An accident during Auror training sets Harry Potter on the slow realization that he wants to spend the rest of his life helping people - not by arresting dark wizards as an Auror-but by healing and taking care of people.
He goes back for his eighth...
Harry sat facing the Dumbledore look alike in his bright green robes, trying to appear relaxed, but he could feel the big knots of tension in his shoulders. It was his fourth session with the wizard and even though Harry knew the point of these things was to talk out his 'issues', he couldn't bring himself to tell the man much.
The look-alike was actually a mind healer named Horace Purvis, who had twinkling grey eyes as opposed to Dumbledore's blue. His long beard was also a bit darker than Dumbledore's had been. Harry liked to distract himself during the sessions by cataloguing the arguably minute differences between his deceased mentor and the wizard in front of him.
"You know, if my appearance makes you uncomfortable, I can get you another mind healer." The wizard offered gently to him, as if Harry was so fragile he couldn't bear the similarities. He actually got a vague sort of comfort in it. Dumbledore's strange doppelgänger here and trying yet again to help him.
"It's fine." Harry didn't share the why of it—even he knew his thoughts about the similarities were pitiful and might really prompt the healer to find another for him. The healer thought that the reason Harry wasn't opening up was because of the resemblance. That was pretty far from the truth. The way Harry saw it he had already lived through the bloody mess. Why bother rehashing it again?
Each loss was carved into his skin, into his soul. If anything, he wished he could forget sometimes, even though maybe that was a weakness. The healer's voice brought him back to the present, and Harry realised he had lapsed into silence staring at the healer, although it didn't seem to make Healer Purvis nervous.
"Can you tell me what happened the day we met at St. Mungos?"
Harry restrained a sigh as he ran through the day without pause, describing the breakfast at Charlotte's house, meeting the ICW mages, and starting the training exercise. He paused when he stumbled over Charlotte's name, his fist clenching.
As he continued trying to walk the healer through the training exercise, he found it harder and harder to keep himself from saying Hermione's name. Harry stuttered, almost as if something disconnected his mouth from his brain. Finally, after he lost the battle to stop himself from calling the ICW mages death eaters, he stopped, his hands now clenched on the arms of the chair.
"Do you know that Svetlana Kuznetsov tried to have Gawain Robards brought up on child abuse charges?"
Harry scoffed. He wasn't a child.
"She was very concerned for you and your well being. After she woke up from the stun, she almost attacked Robards because she felt he should have done more to evaluate you prior to throwing you into training."
The ICW witch's icy face sprang to his mind. It was hard for Harry to imagine that, especially since he had knocked her out.
"The entire ICW delegation wanted a report on your health and wellbeing after the training incident."
