sitting ❀ drarry

𝑑𝑒𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑙𝑒

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟺.𝟷𝚔
𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍: 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟸𝟸𝚗𝚍, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟶
--------------------

Harry was sat at his desk the next day after having purposefully avoided his coworkers. He knew that Malfoy had sent a letter on his behalf, explaining that what Harry needed was some time to work on his own mental health before he was examined properly.

There had been no response, but the fact that the owl had returned without the letter showed that Robards had received it.

And now Harry wasn't sure what to do. Was he supposed to be at work? Was he supposed to be at home? Was he supposed to talk to Robards, or to the Minister, or to  the secretary, Clarissa, who always gave him the wrong messages and accidentally crinkled his papers?

Harry had settled for walking quickly to his office, and ignoring everyone that gave him early-morning greetings like they had some sort of plague. Zacharias Smith was in their shared office, and when he gave Harry a familiar grunt of acknowledgment, Harry returned it absentmindedly with a hand-gesture that he used almost every single time.

Harry approached his desk and listened to the familiar groan of his chair as he placed himself onto it. He peered around, looking for the stack of paperwork that would usually have been given to him by Clarissa, no doubt at least a day late. He, however, saw nothing of the sort.

"Clarissa gave you your work, right?" Harry asked Smith, concerned with what it meant to not receive what he was so accustomed to. Was he in trouble? Had his lack of work in the field dampened his workload? Was Clarissa just behind again?

"Uh, yeah," Smith said, looking up from a letter that he was reading. Judging by the sadness that hid behind his eyes, it wasn't a happy message. "It was from four days ago, but I got some today. Why?"

Harry quirked his head to the side, trying to calm his rapid heart from beating right out of his chest. He felt like screaming at his partner; like no matter how little Smith had done in this situation, it was somehow his fault.

And Clarissa. It was her fault too.

"I have to go," Harry said, rushing from his chair and out into the hall. He had left out the part about it being because he was going to take his frustration out on Smith. As the cooler air of the hall hit Harry's face, he took a few deep breaths. It did very little to help, and his stomach - which had begun to churn violently - continued on with its painful tightening.

Harry looked around frantically, seeing an ocean of people. Everyone was headed to their normal jobs, where they would probably have their normal paperwork given to them by their department's secretary. They would continue on without this detrimental disruption in their day's activity, and they wouldn't have to deal with the way that he was feeling.

Harry would have given anything to be someone else right then. All he needed was to swap lives until this feeling passed.

He felt ill, like he was going to be sick all over himself if he stood still for a moment longer.

Seasickness, he decided, would have been less nauseating. Burns would have lingered less, and garbage would have tasted less foul than the way he felt in that moment.

Harry left the doorway of his office, making his way through a crowd of people who were lucky enough to have avoided this type of disaster. They probably hadn't skipped work the day before. They probably hadn't skipped a performance evaluation with Robards and the Minister, and they probably didn't even realize how difficult it was for him to trudge to the fucking toilets.