"Ahhgh!" The spit in the back of my mouth frothed, threatening to choke me. A hand held my head up, I could feel the fingers braced against my neck. It was the only thing my mind could grab, and I was trying so hard to hang on to it.

"You're doing great, Harry."

The voice meant nothing to me, I was drowning. Not on my own, metallic-tasting spit, but on the darkness, pressure from above.

"It's time for breakfast, dear." Her words were piercing, she wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Ginny, please, love." She frowned and threw the blankets off of me, I'd fallen asleep in my clothes again. "Get changed, wash up, come now." I sat up, the bed creaking under my weight. "Please, if I could just have a moment…" Ginny pulled the drapes back, a flood of light streaming down my face and leaking onto the hardwood floor. I winced, shielding myself from the penetrative rays. "I know you've been in a rut Harry, but it happens to everyone." She sifted through the dresser, pulling out clothes and laying them across the bed. "You really can't let feeling a little off take over your whole life! You have a job, a family." I could feel the anger welling in my chest, a frustration bore from having the same conversation over, and over, and over again. "I'm not just feeling off, Ginny. I've told you, I feel like I'm slipping like my mind isn't my own. I have these dreams, and—" Ginny waved her hand in front of my face, I could smell bacon on her fingertips. "Nonsense, I don't want to hear it, Harry." Her voice rose an octave, she may not have wanted to have this fight, but I could tell she was ready to if need be. I backed down, grabbing the pants she had laid out for me. "Anyway, aren't you going to that therapist? I thought they specialized in cases like yours." I stung her with my silence, I could see it written on her face. "Listen, I love you Harry but you can't convince me the man who fought Voldemort himself, can't wake up for breakfast and spend time with his kids." And there it was, the shot back. It felt like a punch to the gut, every time she brought the kids up. It was true, I'd been more absent than ever, I wasn't proud of that fact. I just didn't want them to see their father this way, a shell of his former glory. "You're right Ginny, just know I'm trying." She sighed and paused, then leaned in for a kiss on my left cheek.

"See you downstairs."

I'd taken to showering in cold water these days, a shock to the system I knew I needed to gather myself. It was so hard to remember when all of this started, when it became too much to handle. I placed my hand against the shower wall, closing my eyes. I felt the water pool around my nose and mouth, but I didn't blow it away immediately. Instead, I let it block the air, suffocating me. I pulled my head out of the water, gasping. It's almost as if I were no longer alive. Or at the very least, like Harry Potter was no longer alive. And left in his wake? A man, beaten, broken, at the end.

I still only made it down for the tail end of breakfast, I moved my eggs around on the plate while Ginny alternated yelling at the children, and giving me cold looks. Once I had pushed all the yolk separate from the white on my plate, I allowed myself to get up. I took a drink from the orange juice she'd poured and stood in the doorway. We didn't exchange words, just half smiles and a small peck. The door closed gently behind me.

I wasn't sure how to feel about therapy. I'd been going for a few months, but talking about all that plagued me was still a foreign feeling. I'd always been Harry Potter, 'The Chosen One.' Ginny always loved to remind me of my accomplishments, and I used to find it flattering. Now I wonder if she's doing it for herself, to try to remember the man I used to be. Maybe… to convince herself I'm still that man.

I pushed open the door to the building, listening to my footsteps change in sound under the newly introduced tile. It was smooth, and white with small grey specks. I tilted my head, trying to make out my distorted image among the specks. Ding! The elevator, I always hated small spaces. I slumped against the wall, waiting until… Ding! 5th floor. As I walked down the hall, a realization swept over me. I remembered… Draco. He'd been here the last session, I'd nearly forgotten in the midst of life. I couldn't help but feel a pang of pity, what could the infamous Draco be going to a therapist for? I don't know why, but I wanted to ask. I wanted to hear him speak, see how he'd changed. But no…it wouldn't be appropriate. I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts from my mind. I opened the door to pass through the waiting room when-

"Harry…"

I was stunned, there he was. It was amazing, he'd grown older, but there was still a softness of youth in his features.

"D-Draco, I-um," I cleared my throat. "How goes it?"

"I know this may seem strange Harry, but I think seeing you the last session was fortuitous."

I was stunned, all words seemed to dry up in my mouth.

"Would it be possible to have a word after your session?"

I swallowed, trying to knock myself out of a stupor. "Sure, yes, that'll be fine."

He nodded, sitting back down. I shifted uncomfortably before heading through to my designated office. The therapist greeted me at the door, but the entire hour went by like television static in my ears. This wasn't how this day was supposed to go.

Ding! The elevator doors parted to a sea of white. White walls, white floors, white uniforms. I could feel myself standing out against the sterile background. My eyes locked on the reception desk that no one was manning. I hit the bell, a few more times than necessary until a woman came around the corner. She placed her hand over the bell and looked at me, her gaze reading annoyed.

"May I help you?"

"Yes ma'm, I'm here to see Harry Potter."

She looked more curious now.

"Harry Potter? There is only one person on his visitors' list, and it's his wife."

I grinned, leaning over the desk in a casual manner, though my heart was beating out of my chest.

"I've come to monitor his progress, he had the treatment, correct?" It looked as if her mind was working over time, I knew she would have to acknowledge the fact I knew sensitive information—and therefore, could potentially be allowed to see him. After a few painful moments, where I was almost certain my heart was going to explode, she pointed to his room.

"I'll be talking to his doctor about this." Her voice wavered, she seemed unsure herself. "I don't think him seeing you is going to do him any good, official business or not."

I was burning with nerves and excitement, with eagerness and fear.

"Well he won't remember much now, will he?"