Remedy

Too Many Slytherins

The crack of the bludger bat echoed through the field as Ron smacked it at high velocity toward their Chaser Demelza Robins. Even from the distance, Harry could see Ron's face pale a little as he realized he had hit the bludger much too hard for a practice game.

"Fuck." Harry muttered quietly as the wind whipped by him as he dived, trying to cut the bludger off that was barreling towards Demelza's back. Her entire focus was on the quidditch goal in front of her and the keeper guarding it.

"Dem!" Ginny's yell drew her attention in the wrong direction as she looked away from the bludger still coming at her.

Harry's angle of descent was going to plant him squarely between the bludger and Demelza—if he got there in time. He focused on the speeding bludger, the distance closing, and shifted the bludger bat from his right to left hand because even though it wasn't his dominant hand, he'd have a better angle to swing with his left.

Time slowed to a crawl, the other players' yells fading, and he only heard the wind whistling by his ear in a high-pitched whine. Harry swung his left arm with all his strength, the bludger hitting the tip of the bat, sending a shockwave up his arm. A splinter of wood broke off the bat as it made contact, and he felt it cut his cheek as it rushed by.

Ron and Ginny were coming towards him, but he waved them off. No need to interrupt practice for an accident that hadn't happened. They already had enough interruptions with the accidents they didn't prevent during practice.

The rest of the practice went smoothly, with no more close calls, and the sun was setting as Harry trudged back to the head dorms. He still had the cut on his cheek that he hadn't bothered to heal, even though it stung. Quidditch practice had been satisfyingly rough this evening, and he felt a pleasant burn in his muscles, and his head for once was quiet and not jammed with random bothersome thoughts.

The setting sun warmed the back of his neck as he trudged back towards Hogwarts alone. Harry had stayed behind as everyone else on the team headed back to do a more thorough inspection of the team brooms in advance of their upcoming match. His quidditch uniform felt slightly damp from sweat but a cool late afternoon breeze kept him from being uncomfortable.

Harry's gaze was focused downward watching his feet. One foot in front of the other, keep moving, he thought to himself. Get to the head dorms, smile at Hermione, and make brief small talk before heading into his rooms. Another normal day checked off.

"Your feelings for Miss Granger seem to be intense." Healer Purvis made the statement blandly, but the insinuation pricked at Harry.

Even he could tell he responded too vehemently to the Healers simple statement. "She's my best friend. We went through a bloody war together. Of course—of course — I care for her—as a friend."

Prior to therapy if someone had asked Harry how the war had affected him, his answer would have been about the witches and wizards who had given their lives to fight. It wouldn't have been about him . When he tried to answer that question, he thought of George's face as he carried the mirrors out of the Burrow, smashing them to bits in the front yard. Harry thought of watching Teddy innocently holding his bottle not yet understanding how much he had already lost with his parents death. Harry repeatedly promised himself he would do whatever it took for Teddy not to feel as lonely as he had felt growing up.

Faced with the pain of those thoughts, it was difficult for Harry to acknowledge his own problems. It felt shameful to admit his own challenges in the face of their loss. He got confused sometimes, so what? He got angry sometimes and reacted without thinking- so what?