The only time when Harry seemed to briefly forget about Ginny – because mostly something in his eyes would betray his constant grief – was when he was playing with Teddy, or when he visited Josepha and Luna and their new-born child. Especially when they let him hold their little girl and he walked about with her in his arms, talking nonsense or singing in a low voice to calm her, did he seem truly relaxed and happy.

The baby was nine weeks old already, and was called Sophie. She was at that age when she would fixate her gaze upon any face looming over her and, if she found it benevolent enough, she would be generous with bestowing the person with her quick and sunny smile. Harry could not get enough of that rewarding baby expression and he visited often, but briefly because, naturally, the baby still preferred her mothers to strangers and needed constant feeding, to the point of Josepha being almost exhausted. The young healer mother had experienced numerous and demanding night shifts at St Mungo’s which, one would think, should have prepared her for motherhood when it came to sleep deprivation, but Sophie still proved to be a challenge.

In the middle of March, Snape sent Harry an owl asking how his studies of Ancient Magic advanced, and did he want to visit Hogwarts to discuss the subject? Harry was slightly surprised by the question since he was still convinced that Snape did not want to have anything to do with him, and could not imagine why the professor was attempting to get in contact. Harry had been too restless for the kind of advanced studies that Ancient Magic required, however, and he resolved on replying briefly by owl that he regretted not having anything new to present to Snape.

Harry worked on other subjects, however, and he had even written three short papers together with Healer Sheno on diagnostic spells. Harry had a special sense for diagnostics, and easily discovered ways of improving or simplifying already existing spells. He did it intuitively, and writing the papers was a trifle and a pass-time that was welcome.

Harry was starting to get a reputation at St Mungo’s of becoming something of a superior healer. The turmoil which breaking up with Ginny had thrown him into had somehow removed some of his cautiousness. It was not that he had become careless, but more that he had less qualms to launch into challenges. Of course, Harry had always relied on his instincts, but now he used them very consciously to feel his way to the solution of a diagnostic dilemma, or to modulate his treatment in just the right way. And he turned out to be amazingly successful. He had a score of not losing one single patient by Renervation at the Emergency.

Harry was moreover very generous with his Grief-Swallowers abilities and never refused to do a Relieving incantation which of course were so much more effective than working by the Swallowscope, or by handing out potions, which the rest of the healers were reduced to doing. It would be difficult to prove that Harry was actively seeking the approbation and acclaim of his fellow co-workers at St Mungo’s, but it was not improbable that Ginny’s rejection had left him with a wounded self-esteem, and that him endeavouring to work so hard at St Mungo’s was a kind of compensation for that fact.

So on a superficial level, Harry was not doing poorly at all: he was winning training combats against experienced Aurors, he was saving lives at St Mungo’s, inventing healing spells and publishing papers, but the reverse of the medal was dark and disturbing: His bouts of wild magic had not disappeared, and only Snape knew that they were connected with Parsel magic. In the evenings Harry still had attacks of anguish, and his restlessness had not abated. The months of March and April saw an increase in reckless behaviour which Ron and Hermione witnessed first-hand, but still did perhaps not know the full extent of. A few haphazard events during the spring enabled them to get some glimpses of Harry’s despair, however.

*

One night, Ron and Harry were very close to seriously incapacitating each other, inadvertently. It happened so that Ron and Hermione woke up in the middle of the night from faint thuds and strange sounds from the entrance floor which they by now associated with Harry having been out and coming home drunk.

“Please, go down and help him,” murmured Hermione. Ron only ground.

“Ron, wake up. You need to go down and help Harry to bed.”

“He usually manages, Hermione. It’s the middle of the night,” Ron slurred, still half asleep.

“He needs us, Ron. We must show him we’re here for him. I can’t believe you’re being so callous. I’m going myself.” Hermione sounded completely awake and irritated, so Ron quickly threw his cover to the side and sat up.

“No, no, I’m going, I’m going,” he said, forcing his eyes open.

 When Ron got downstairs, he localised the sounds coming from the library.

“Harry?” he called out advancing towards the door. “Come on, mate, let’s go to bed.”

But when he entered the library, the person inside turned towards him, and it was not Harry. A complete stranger was standing in the middle of the library at Grimmauld Place, looking moreover like a Muggle.

Ron actually screamed. A frightened, roaring battle-cry escaped him as he lifted his wand to strike.

“Incarcerous!”

“Expelliarmus!”

To Ron’s horror the stranger had somehow managed to draw his wand, and Ron found himself disarmed. Apparently this was not a Muggle. Terror-stricken, Ron stumbled backwards, shouting a warning at Hermione who could be heard walking down the stairs.

“It’s me, Ron. It’s only me,” said the stranger. “I’m sorry I woke you up.” He sounded desolate and advanced towards Ron on unsteady legs and with spread arms.

“Harry?” Hermione had arrived at the door, pointing her wand at a fair-haired, bearded man who looked to be in his thirties.

The man started to ramble excuses incoherently. Ron and Hermione picked up on the word Polyjuice and they heard enough to gather that this must indeed be Harry, without having to ask control questions.

“Let’s sit down and sort this out,” said Hermione.

In the kitchen, with cups of tea in their hands, Ron and Hermione learnt from the now transforming Harry that he had brewed a batch of Polyjuice over the last month.

“You did? Whatever for?” asked Ron.

Harry explained to them that he had gotten the idea after the press had started to write about his nocturnal adventures.

“It’s none of their business!” Harry muttered darkly. “I’m so tired of being stalked by the press. Whatever I happen to do, Ginny will be able to learn about it in a news-paper. There’s no privacy. Why, she was right that being the Boy-who-lived is a hopeless undertaking.”

“But why?” insisted Ron. “I can’t see Dean and Seamus and the gang accompanying you to a Muggle pub when you look like that.”

Harry did not answer and looked away.

“You went out to drink on your own, did you?” Hermione asked sternly. “Why in the world…? Don’t you see how destructive that is? You’re getting me worried here, Harry!” Harry who had by now regained his own figure and form looked abashed.

“I only… I only wanted to be left in peace,” he whispered. “I wanted to have people around me, but not to be recognised, not being paid attention to. I just sat there, listening in on others, trying to avoid my own thoughts…”

“Please, Harry, consider what you’re doing. This manner of drinking alone…”

“It’s not as if I drink every night,” Harry was quick to defend himself.

“No, it’s not,” acknowledged Hermione. “But when you do drink, you do it so recklessly. You never used to behave like this before… You’re a responsible person as a whole, but this… this…”

“You scared the shit out of me, Harry,” said Ron bluntly.

“I’m so sorry, Ron. I didn’t mean to wake either of you up.” Harry turned to Hermione. “I need to… I need to escape from myself once in a while,” he whispered, shame and regret resounding in his voice.

*

Only a fortnight later, Hermione found out something else about Harry that added to her worries. That particular Saturday, during the day, Harry had written a quiz and passed a practical exam concerning resuscitation skills at St Mungo’s. In the evening, he and his friends had visited Luna and Josepha together with Neville and they had cooked together at Luna’s and Josepha’s flat, fawned over baby Sophie and returned home early. Hermione had noticed a growing restlessness in Harry and pleaded with him.

“Please, Harry, don’t go out. Stay at home and get some sleep – you need it!” Harry hesitated before answering her.

“You’re probably right, Hermione. Haven’t got much sleep this week. I think I’ll take a sleeping draught and go to bed.”

“Okay, if it’s necessary,” said Hermione. “It’s better than having you run about the forest or whatever you’re doing when you stay out.”

Only fifteen minutes later, Hermione remembered something she needed to ask Harry and went up to knock on his door and, getting no answer, she opened it an inch and called Harry’s name. When he still did not answer, she went inside but stopped abruptly: Harry was already asleep, on the bed, but still dressed. On the floor, there was a bottle of something that Harry had brewed himself – Hermione knew he had access to the hospital’s laboratory at the adjoining apothecary - probably the sleeping draught he had been talking of. Hermione sighed, covered Harry with a blanket and tip-toed out of the room, content with having her friend in bed so early.

The next morning, Harry did not come down for breakfast. When it grew near noon, Ron and Hermione prepared to leave for the Burrow in order to have Sunday dinner with Ron’s parents. Ron went to ask Harry if he was joining them but returned alone and contented himself with saying to Hermione:

“Harry’s not coming.”

When they came back to Grimmauld Place, it was early evening, but there was still no sign of Harry.

“He must be awake by now, at least,” said Ron. “I wonder if he’s gone out.”

“You mean he was asleep at noon?” Hermione frowned. “I thought you offered him to come with us?”

“I couldn’t, could I, since he was sleeping?” said Ron. “Thought it might do him good.”

Hermione said nothing but turned and walked up the stairs to Harry’s room. She knocked on the door with some force, waited a few seconds, then entered the room with determination. Harry was stirring slightly in the bed. Hermione advanced.

“Wake up, Harry,” she said curtly, picking the potion bottle up from the floor, uncorking it and sniffing its contents suspiciously. “Smells like an ordinary sleeping draught,” she said. “What have you done with it? Did you change it? Curse your clever inventions! Come on, Harry, wake up!” She raised her voice and shook Harry by both shoulders. He stirred again, but it took Hermione several minutes before he opened his eyes, sat up in bed and looked at her groggily.

“What?” he croaked.

“What in Merlin’s name are you playing at?” Hermione whipped at him. “Did you modify this draught to make you sleep for twenty hours? Why would you like a draught with such long duration? I don’t like it at all that you’ve started brewing again and manipulating those recipes.” She shook the bottle in front of Harry’s nose.

“I… I didn’t change the recipe,” answered Harry, recoiling slightly from her. “And I brew for school. We’re studying healing potions.”

“The sleeping draught was for you,” Hermione pointed out.

“I told you I would take the draught. I don’t intend to use it often, only once in a while. Please Hermione…” Harry moved a little bit further away from his friend who leaned in threateningly on him.

“Explain to me then how come you’ve slept deeply for more than twenty hours on this draught?” Hermione craved to know.

“Why, I was tired, and I took the potion a bit late. It happens you know. What time is it? Twenty hours you say?” Hermione sighed and looked with sharp eyes at Harry.

“I know that you took the draught early, Harry,” she said evenly but with a crease between her eye-brows. “I saw you asleep already at ten o’clock in the evening. You should have been well-rested in the morning, if not by noon when we wanted you to come with us to the Burrow.”

Harry blushed and mumbled something.

“What?” Hermione asked sharply. “Did you mean to say that you took a second dose of the draught?”

Harry nodded and looked away, abashed.

“Explain to me, Harry.” Hermione’s voice wavered the least little bit. “Why on earth would you take a second dose of a sleeping draught when you woke up in the morning?”

Harry said nothing at first, but Hermione waited, looking at him sternly, but at the same time biting her lower lip as if preventing herself from starting to cry. At last Harry answered in a low voice, explaining that he had woken up at eight in the morning, remembering that it was Sunday and felt depressed. His body felt heavy, probably from the effect of the sleeping draught itself, so he did not feel like launching into physical exercise which usually helped when he felt low. He had studied hard the past week, and really did not feel like getting started on an intellectual challenge either.

“I didn’t know what to do,” said Harry quietly. “Everything felt so meaningless. And then I remembered having promised Mrs Weasley to come to the Burrow and I… I… I couldn’t. Not without her…” Harry‘s voice broke.

“So you took a second dose of the draught only to sleep through the day?” Hermione filled in, a note of incredulity in her voice.

Harry nodded. After a short silence, Hermione added:

“And what now? What about the night to come? What do you plan on doing?”

Harry squirmed and passed a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I’ll get up and… find something to do,” he said, casting his blanket aside and standing up as if to prove to her that he was taking command over himself again. “I have school tomorrow and I wouldn’t dream of skipping training opportunities at St Mungo’s. I’ll be there on time. Please Hermione, I promise it won’t happen again, okay? It was stupid of me to take a double dose like that, it really was.”

Hermione stayed seated on the bed, looking at him with doubt and worry in her eyes.

“Hermione, er… Will you please step out of the room? I’m going to change clothes and…” Harry blushed. Hermione lifted an eye-brow. Harry and she had been camping together for months and Harry did not use to be shy in front of her, but she obeyed him and rose reluctantly.

“See you downstairs with Ron?” she asked.

“Right, I’ll be with you in a moment. You’ll give me news from the Burrow,” Harry said in a voice that wanted to be brisk but failed. Hermione took a sudden few steps up to him and grabbed his hand.

“We love you, Harry. We’re here for you,” she said in a thick voice. Harry stood completely still for a short while, then he quickly patted her on the arm with one hand, while delicately disengaging the other one from hers. She opened her mouth to say something again, but closed it, turned and went out of the room.

Harry waited until he heard her steps down the stairs, then sunk down on the bed with his head between his hands, exhaling slowly to prevent anxiety from getting an upper hand. What in the whole world was he doing? And what was he playing at getting embarrassed in front of Hermione? She was like a sister, had always been. Something felt different about her, though, what was it? He was in a flagrant loss after Ginny left him, but that did not mean he was going to start getting attracted by his best friend aka his other best friend’s girl-friend, was it? Harry sighed with exasperation, berating himself vehemently for always complicating things. Intense and complicated - that was him, Ginny was right.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to examine his feelings, which was very hard these days, because they were so overwhelming, so shifting and unpredictable all the time, but in the end, to his relief, he concluded that he felt no sexual desire for Hermione, and that it was something else that was different about her. As for the subject itself which had rendered Hermione so upset on his behalf, Harry regretted that she had uncovered his manoeuvre with the sleeping draught more than he regretted the act in itself, even if he realised that it was not entirely wise, nor healthy, to do what he had done. Maybe he was losing his grip on things a little bit from time to time, but did it really matter, he thought, whether he lost his grip or not? He was struggling in his own way to get by, didn’t he? How could anyone possibly understand what he was going through? But he needed to be more careful not to get his friends worried, he concluded.

***

At the beginning of May, no one knew very well what Harry did in his spare time. He would leave his friends with vague explanations that he was on his way to Simmings, or that he was seeing someone from St Mungo’s, and when being at Simmings, he would leave with an excuse that he was seeing his old friends from Hogwarts. Sometimes this was true, but sometimes it wasn’t, and no one had the whole picture except Harry, of course, who had become increasingly secretive, but who at the same time endeavoured not to appear dismissing or rude, and took pains not to upset his friends.

There was no fault to be found in the way he conducted his studies, neither at St Mungo’s, nor with the Aurors, so Mrs Steadfast found herself without ground for approaching Harry with questions or warnings. Snape was still on to her with concerns over Harry's behaviour and over Harry’s health. He was the only one who was not dupe at all, while the others were more vacillating: they could see with their own eyes that Harry still looked a bit thin and hollow in the face, but since he smiled at them and had regained much of his unobtrusive and gentle ways, they chose to hope that he was actually on his way to recover from his loss and was starting to do better.

And since Snape still had not found a way to address Harry without getting self-conscious and sounding incredibly stiff, which in turn caused Harry to politely dismiss Snape and retreat into himself, Snape had stopped trying. He still made regular appearances at the Auror Office, however, where he stood in a corner, riveting Harry with his dark and disapproving gaze, or whispering his concerns to Mrs Steadfast who bore with him with uncommon patience, but who could do nothing. And thus the circle went on, and in the middle was Harry, completely alone with his despair.

And so it continued on until one early morning towards the end of May when Harry came storming into the Auror Office with three prisoners that he had caught single-handedly, whereof one Death Eater.