The Clinic

Chapter 1: Some Kind of 'Welcome'

"That's it," Hermione said, pointing at the lone brick building at the end of the drive. She began to fold up the directions with her usual neat, precise movements.

"Are you sure?" asked Harry anxiously. He immediately knew that had been a mistake.

"Yes," said Hermione decisively, with that sharp little dip of her chin that Harry inwardly recognized as a sign that she was getting ready to be bullish about this if he insisted. "Park anywhere there's an unmarked space, but leave the bags in the car."

"Yes, dear," he said resignedly, pointing the car toward an open space near the main doors. He eyed the gleaming brick and glass building suspiciously as they drew nearer, muttering, "It doesn't look like a bastion of evil..." Hermione glanced sharply sideways at him, That Look coming onto her face again, and he hastily added, "or a clinic, either."

Harry parked the car, and they got out. With a last check that the car was unlocked and the suitcases were plainly visible (and a surreptitious check that his wand was close to hand, covered as putting the car keys in his pocket), Harry took a deep breath, visibly steeled himself, and walked around the car to Hermione's side. She fell into step beside him, linking her arm with his with a practiced manner and a soft smile. The ring on her hand glinted in the sunlight, and Harry almost tripped, remembering anew that she was his wife. 'This whole marriage thing is just too new, even after a year,' he thought. 'I just can't believe it.'

Further musings in that direction were cut off, however, by Hermione asking, "Where's Ron? I thought he was supposed to meet us here now. Did you owl him to confirm?" Her manner was that familiar, almost bossy one he remembered so well from the first days of their friendship, only tinged with a slight nervous impatience that he was now able to recognize.

'Good,' he thought, 'she feels it too. At least it's not just me this time.' Aloud he replied, "Yes, I sent the message back with Errol, and I called through the fireplace this morning too, just to make sure he woke up."

As if on cue, crashing noises and the sound of someone cursing came from around the corner of the building. "Ron?" Harry called, tensed and half-reaching for his wand but restrained by Hermione's hand on his arm. "Is that you?" The cursing got louder. Hermione's eyes widened at some of the comments--apparently she didn't know you could do that in bed with a broomstick. Harry filed that piece of information away in his memory for further reference--perhaps he'd show her sometime; she was his wife, after all. After another tense moment and a particularly vile imprecation involving boomslang skin, bubotuber pus, and someone's grandmother, Harry unexpectedly began to laugh and relaxed, pulling Hermione off the sidewalk toward the sound of the cursing. "That's Ron, all right," Harry said, still laughing, "I've never heard anyone else use that particular line; I think he got it from the twins. I wonder why he's hiding in the bushes and cursing at them so badly."

Ron broke free of the shrubbery and tumbled forward onto the lawn, only barely preventing himself from falling. Harry noted, professionally, that it looked like Ron had failed at that a couple times recently, given the state of his clothing and hair. At least three falls, Harry estimated confidently, given the layers of staining and the number of twigs and leaves in his hair. And at least one of those falls had involved a pond or puddle, as Ron was rather thoroughly wet.

Hermione stopped and stood fuming, hands on her hips and one foot tapping. "Ronald Weasley, just what in the world do you think you're doing? Why were you in the bushes? Did you think you could just jump out and scare us, like some childish prank? Did you even stop to consider what the consequences of that might have been, had either of us reacted badly and pulled our wands on you? You could have had your funeral next week instead of your birthday, with a coffin the size of a matchbox since that's all they would be able to pick up of you!" She sounded almost startlingly like Mrs. Weasley.

'Molly,' Harry corrected himself silently. 'Have to start calling her that, she said so, and Ron's dad is Arthur. Weird.' He dragged himself back to the present and decided he'd better intervene before Ron (or Hermione) got any more upset. "Ron, what happened? You have to admit, you are quite a sight right now, all wet and muddy and cursing at bushes." He started to chuckle, finally seeing the humor of the situation: his best friend (and best man) standing there drenched and filthy, who could win a battle against Peter Pettigrew but had lost now to a bunch of bushes.

To his surprise, Ron blushed and studied his toes, as if it had really been his mother scolding him. "I had...er, a little Apparition accident." Before Hermione could do more than inhale to continue scolding him, he looked up and rushed on. "I ended up around back. They have an ornamental lake back there. I didn't mean it, I guess the directions they gave us and that picture you showed me from the Inner Net or whatever it was weren't accurate enough for Apparition--"

"That's because this place is set so you can't use magic here," Hermione cut in sharply. "There's a reason why the letters said to arrive by Muggle means."

"Well, anyway," Ron continued as fast as he could, "I--I--..." Ron blushed even redder than Harry had ever seen him, even after Fleur had turned him down for the Yule Ball, and muttered something Harry couldn't quite make out.

Hermione looked furious and even more like Mrs. Weasley than before. "What did you just say, Ronald Weasley?"

"IApparatedintothelake." He said it so fast that Harry had to think twice to understand it.

Hermione apparently had no such problem. "Ron!!" she burst out, sounding more like a Howler with every word she got out. "It wasn't the picture's fault! Apparition accidents are a sign of serious magical imbalance! You should know that!"

"Then it's a good thing that we're here, in the right place to get that imbalance fixed," said Harry, diving in as Hermione took a breath. Ron flashed him a grateful look. "So we should hurry up and go inside so we can get this taken care of as soon as possible."

That brought Hermione back to her normal self. "Right," she said, taking a deep breath and smoothing her skirt. "We should go inside--they're probably waiting for us." She resumed her normal place on Harry's arm and started pulling him toward the main entrance. Harry rolled his eyes at Ron and allowed himself to be led away; Ron stifled something that sounded, to Harry at least, very much like a snort before he followed them back onto the walk.

"I heard that, Ron," said Hermione, but she was smiling this time. "So, other than the Apparition accident, how are things? Do you like your new place? It's strange living without your folks, isn't it?"

"Bloody right it is," said Ron, leaping onto a new topic that didn't involve his accidents. "The shutters on my bedroom window bang sometimes, and I wake up thinking it's the ghoul who lived above my room in the Burrow--"

The bush to their left gave a loud rustle and began to shake violently. "Get back!" Ron hollered, shoving past Harry and Hermione. He had his wand out and ready, and there was a wild look around his eyes. "I'll cover here--you two get to safety and call for help!"

Harry went for his wand only to find that Hermione had a death grip on his arm. "I knew you were going to do that," she whispered to him with a smile. "Ron--Ron, settle down," she called. "Nothing's there, nothing's trying to attack. There's no reason--"

"Get back!!" he hollered again, his free arm windmilling wildly in the direction of the entrance. "Harry, get her out of here! Think of her safety, if nothing else!!"

At just this moment something small and brown with a large bushy tail dropped out of the bottom of the shrub and scampered across to hide under the next one, chittering angrily as it reared up on its back legs to glare at them. Ron spun, following it with his wand; Harry grabbed Ron's wand arm just in time to prevent him from cursing the poor animal. "Ron!" said Harry urgently, "Settle down! It's just a chipmunk!"

"A what??" Ron froze, peering at the small animal, wand still out as if he expected it to attack at any moment.

"A chipmunk. They're Muggle animals--they live in trees and eat acorns. They're harmless, I promise. Dudley used to try to shoot them with his pellet gun--they're quicker than a Cornish pixie but they can't do anything worse to humans than gnaw on your finger." Harry told him.

As soon as the animal was satisfied that Ron really wasn't going to try to take its acorn, it turned around and dashed up into another shrub. "Yeah, that's right," Ron muttered just loud enough to be heard, "Just turn tail and run away! And don't come back, you hear??" Ron slowly lowered his wand, though he continued to peer nervously and intently at the chipmunk's new hiding place. "Are you sure??" he asked. At Harry's nod, Ron took a deep breath and consciously forced himself to relax and see the chipmunk for what it really was. "You know," he said, sounding thoroughly surprised, "he's actually a cute little bugger, if it weren't for those teeth!! Y'know, Herm, he looks kinda like you did before third year!" Harry heard a sharp intake of breath behind them, then the sounds that indicated that his wife was storming off in a huff. "Hermione??" called Ron, glancing back over his shoulder. "Herm? Come back, I was just teasing!" Trading grins, he and Harry trotted after Hermione, who had made it only a dozen steps or so before doubling over in laughter. She put an arm around each of them and still laughing, they walked toward the entrance.

*****

The double glass doors that led into the building had letters stenciled on them. "St. Aphrael's Clinic: You've saved your world, now save yourself!" and then below that, in smaller letters, "Head of Clinic: Dr. Polly Gara." Harry supposed he was supposed to know Who Dr. Gara Was, or that a lot of people did know Who Dr. Gara Was. He shrugged mentally, reminding himself that the other residents here didn't know who he was, and likely didn't care either.

His introspection was interrupted by a snort from Hermione, who muttered, "What a tacky motto. Just who do they think we are? We're not like Malfoy, getting big heads about things we didn't even do ourselves." She had let go of Ron and was nervously smoothing her skirt and hair again. Now that it was time to get down to business and actually go in, she wasn't quite ready.

Harry suppressed a grin--'just like old times,' he thought. 'She keeps us moving in the right direction and doing the right things, and I just have to take the lead doing them.' He stepped away from her, adroitly evading the hand that clutched almost impulsively at the back of his shirt, and opened the door with a smile and a bow. "After you, madam, sir," he said, adopting his best manners. Hermione smiled, nerves temporarily forgotten, and walked in. Ron followed, and Harry brought up the rear. Ron did the honors on the inside door, and Hermione slipped back to Harry's side with her nerves well hidden--except to people who knew where to look, he amended.

Inside the main doors, they were met by a middle-aged woman in a set of brightly colored scrubs who was obviously waiting for someone (Harry fervently hoped that color combination was not the standard color scheme for staff uniforms). "Mr. and Mrs. Potter? Mr. Weasley?" she asked. She didn't even bat an eye at Ron's condition. At their nervous nods, she smiled warmly and said, "I'm Nurse Kellinore. Welcome to our two-week residential program for superhero readjustment. If you'll follow me, please, your therapists are waiting to meet you." Without waiting for their acknowledgement, she turned and set off across the plant-filled atrium towards a corridor in the rear. As was his habit in tense or unfamiliar situations, Harry shoved Hermione behind him and pulled out his wand, waving Ron around the other side to scout--until Hermione very calmly grabbed his wand arm and started walking ahead, rolling her eyes and towing him like some kind of toy wagon with a stuck wheel. He and Ron traded embarrassed grins and followed after her, sticking their wands back into their concealment sleeves as they went.

Harry felt as if his eyes were trying to look everywhere at once as they crossed the open space after the nurse. Habit, he supposed, though he had to admit that this place was much nicer to look at than the Chamber of Secrets or the Forbidden Forest. This part of it was airy and open and the walls were almost completely windows, affording them a spectacular look at the lake and the grounds beyond. At the sight of the lake, Hermione turned to look at Ron and pointedly raised one eyebrow. He flushed and shot her a dirty look, trying as soon as her back was turned to brush more of the dirt and leaves off his clothing.

As they passed another clump of potted trees surrounded by benches, a flicker of movement and a flash of light from behind the plants caught Harry's eye. Fighting the urge to tense up or pull his wand lest he alarm the woman with a death grip on his arm, he looked again in the direction of the movement. Standing behind one of the potted trees, almost completely hidden from view, was a small, weasel-faced man with a large, pointy nose. He was wearing a faded bathrobe over flannel pajamas and fluffy pink bunny slippers that seemed to emit flashes of bright red light in the back--so his keepers had an easier time finding him, Harry surmised. The sight of him made Harry wonder, with a start, if he just might leave this place more messed up than when he arrived.

They left the atrium and turned down a corridor, which was less well-lit and lined with cheap-looking still life paintings interspersed with doors. Several of the doors were open, allowing glimpses of the offices beyond. Harry craned his neck this way and that, trying to peer in as Nurse Kellinore hurried them down the hall. "Stop it," whispered Hermione. "You look like your Aunt Petunia, doing that." Harry stuck his tongue out at her, grinning, and tried to be less obvious in his spying.

Halfway down the hall, a burly man in a coat and tie came out of an office, nearly bowling over Nurse Kellinore. "Dr. Canedo!" she said, recovering quickly as Harry, Ron and Hermione skidded to a halt behind her, "Just the person I was looking for." Turning to the trio, she continued, "All of our clinicians' and therapists' offices are down this hallway. You'll be visiting them several times a day, so it's best to familiarize yourself with this hall now. Mr. Potter, this is your primary therapist, Dr. Alfred Canedo."

"Harry!" beamed the doctor, taking Harry's hand and shaking it vigorously. "Welcome to St. Aphrael's. I was just coming out to look for you--wondered if you'd gotten lost in our large building." He chuckled heartily, his large stomach and jowls jiggling a little as he did so. "Though no one would get lost with you, Nurse Kellinore," he added quickly, noticing the stiff look on her face. "Perhaps you'd like to carry on, getting our other new patients acquainted with their therapists? Harry and I can use this time to get acquainted."

Still beaming and clutching Harry's hand, he waved a good-bye to the others in the hallway and tugged Harry into his office. They passed through the outer office, which looked to be a secretary's, and turned right into the doctor's private office. The window boasted a marvelous view of the lake and grounds, and Harry privately thought that if he spent too much time in here or the doctor got too boring, he could always stare out the window.

The doctor himself was a large, loud man who bore a rather strong resemblance to Uncle Vernon. With the same heavy build and large mustache, the doctor was a little darker and smiled continuously--though it seemed rather forced right now. "Sit down, Harry, sit down," he said, waving at a large leather chair in front of the desk. He went around behind it to his own seat, talking continuously. "I was expecting you a little while ago. Did the directions get you a little lost? I understand there's some construction out on the route we suggested."

"Oh, no, doctor, the roads were fine. We actually arrived on time, but there was a little incident here." At the doctor's inquisitive look, Harry continued, "My friend landed in your lake by accident. He tried to Apparate--you know, just appear here--but he missed."

Stroking his mustache, the doctor nodded sagely. "Ah yes, that seems to happen rather regularly." Thoughtfully, he continued, "I'm rather beginning to think we might have to have the lake removed. It seems to be becoming a safety hazard. But other than that, you got here all right and all?" After rapid consideration, Harry decided not to tell the doctor about the incident with the chipmunk and just nodded. "Capital! Well, then, let's be on about it!"

Turning his smile back on, the doctor settled back in his chair. "We're very glad to have you here, Harry. You came highly recommended from both the Ministry of Magic and the Headmaster of your old school. He and Dr. Gara, the head of the clinic, have known each other for quite a long time." His face and voice turned serious. "The Headmaster has informed me of some of your symptoms, and quite frankly it's a very good thing you and your friend were able to make it in time for this treatment session. Otherwise, you both could have developed some serious problems. We're going to try to root out some of these problems before they become critical, though it's going to take a lot of hard work." He leveled a Look at Harry, leaning forward in the chair. "Are you ready for this? Will we have your completely cooperation?"

Harry gulped, then met the doctor's eyes and nodded. Dr. Canedo gave a satisfied 'hrumph' and settled back into his former reclining position, continuing less intently, "Now, your bags will be brought in by one of the staff and taken directly to your rooms. I'm afraid you won't be rooming with your wife, as our floors are equipped for single genders, but I assure you, you will have substantial time to see her each day. Your regular schedule will include two daily sessions with me here in my office, where I'll try to help you sort through your feelings and channel your energies into positive new directions for your life. You'll also have other private and group sessions with a mentor, plus group time in things like art therapy, dance therapy, and even hydrotherapy."

"Hydratherapy??" asked Harry, a slightly panicked note coming into his voice. "As in like, talking to hydras? I had to fight one of those once, back in my sixth yea--"

The doctor interrupted, chuckling heartily. "Harry, Harry, you misheard. Hydrotherapy, not hydratherapy. In the water--it's swimming and water-aerobics. I promise, you won't have to fight anyone or anything during your stay here with us. We want you to use this time to rest and recover. Put all the cares of your world behind you, and just focus on yourself."

Harry still looked doubtful, but the doctor continued on as if nothing were possibly the matter. His speech was punctuated with chuckles, which Harry privately thought sounded very odd coming from an Uncle Vernon lookalike. "As another part of your therapy, we'll match you up with another ex-hero mentor, someone else who saved his or her fictitious world and maybe a few others, and lived to tell the tale. They're particularly suited to help you adjust to life after the death of your archnemesis and the destruction of all of his followers. I think I have just the person for you, another orphaned guy with a scar who also learned his true identity rather late--though in his case, I think he was about 16 or so, and he learned about it in rather public and embarrassing circumstances. Took him years to get over it, to tell the truth. We call him Gary, but his full name is Belgarion. Most of the superheroes we deal with find that taking a new name, or a variant on their old name, helps them adjust to a new kind of life--but with a name like Belgarion, I hardly think he'd have wanted to keep that any longer than he had to!"

The doctor laughed heartily at his own joke, then reached over to push a button on his phone. "Minnie," he said to his secretary over the intercom, "would you please ask Gary to come down? I have someone I'd like him to meet."

"Certainly, doctor." There was the click of her hanging up, and the doctor looked back down at his papers, dashing some notations here and there. Harry sat there, fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt, which had perversely managed to come untucked again, and eyeing the seemingly oblivious doctor nervously. The doctor had just looked up with a Reassuring But Professional Smile for Harry when there was a tap on the door.

It swung open to reveal a short, thin young woman with her brown hair pulled tightly back into a bun. She wore square-shaped glasses and a no-nonsense outfit that, Harry privately thought, looked like something from a 1950's photo album. Her mouth was set in a thin, almost grim line, and Harry leapt to his feet looking a little wild around the eyes, trying to figure out what McGonagall was going to yell at him for this time. Then he did a double take, and saw that this woman was way too young to be McGonagall...but other than that, she could be twins with that venerable Hogwarts professor. He noticed the doctor coming around the desk with another of those Reassuring But Professional Smiles on his face, but with a slightly startled look about his own eyes and a hand outstretched to block Harry's path should he try to bolt.

"Ah, just the person I wanted you to meet," said Dr. Canedo, beaming from Harry to the door and back again. Harry belatedly noticed a sandy-haired man who looked only a few years older than himself standing behind McGonag--the secretary, he corrected himself. "Gary, this is Harry Potter, he's just joined us here today. I thought you might make an excellent mentor for him."

Gary stepped forward and stuck out his hand, saying, "Hello, Harry, and welcome to St. Aphrael's." He smiled warmly at Harry, and his hand hung there in midair. The doctor cleared his throat to get Harry's attention, then nudged his chin towards Gary. Clearly, he wanted Harry to respond.

Harry eyed Gary nervously for a second, then quickly shook his hand and stepped back to maintain a safe wand-distance between them. 'Never hurts to be prepared,' he thought. 'Ah, there's his scar,' he added as he noticed the round pale spot on Gary's right palm, 'must've been burned as a tot--poor guy, that big a burn must've hurt.'

The doctor beamed again and nodded approvingly at Harry. "Now, there's just one final matter, then Gary can show you to your room and let you get settled in before supper. If you'll just give me your wand," the doctor smiled and placatingly held out a hand. Harry looked at him suspiciously, and made no move to turn it over. "Really, Harry," the doctor reassured him, "you won't need it here. No one will attack you or cause trouble--believe me when I say you are perfectly safe here and will have absolutely no need for it." He continued beaming and holding out his hand patiently.

Harry glowered at him for a moment more, then said, defiantly, "I don't really need it, you know. I can do just about everything magic without it." When the doctor didn't respond, except to nod and smile, Harry grumpily yanked his wand out of his sleeve and smacked it into the doctor's palm. Dr. Canedo's smile didn't even waver as he placed the wand carefully onto his desk.

"Good," he said, "now that that's all settled, "why don't you and Gary go find your room so you can get settled in? I'm sure you're eager to see your accommodations and unpack after your drive." The doctor showed them out of the office, still beaming. "All right there, Harry, I'll see you again tomorrow morning, and Gary, I'll see you at the staff meeting this evening." As he and Gary left the office and turned to go back down the hallway, Harry heard Dr. Canedo say to his secretary, "We really must check with that Double-dork man or whatever his name is. I thought he said they couldn't do magic without their wands..." The words trailed off as they went farther down the hall. Harry felt indignation rise in him at that remark--how dare the doctor say something like that about Professor Dumbledore! --but he took a deep breath and stuffed it back down, willing himself to just ignore these people and their ignorant comments. 'What did they know, anyway,' he told himself. 'I bet they've only seen the movie. I bet none of them have any clue what it's really like to be a superhero and be in those kinds of situations.'

Next to him, Gary noticed the angry look around Harry's eyes. He cleared his throat and said brightly, "So, I understand that your wife came with you. Have you been married long?"

Harry started guiltily, and realized he was being quite rude. "No," he said, trying to make polite small talk, "actually, it's less than a year--our anniversary is on the 30^th."

"Ahh, so newlyweds still! My wife and I have been married for quite some time, but I still remember much of that first year--just like you, I also got married right after the Final Battle. Well, this year, you'll really be able to celebrate when you get out of here. It may look a little odd and seem strange at times, but this place has really helped a lot of people put their lives back together." He paused to smile reassuringly at Harry.

It backfired unexpectedly. "Does everyone around here do nothing but smile all day??" Harry burst out, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Gary stepped back, startled by his vehemence. "All those self-assured 'reassuring' smiles! First the nurse, then the doctor, now you! The only people I haven't seen smiling are the secretary and the man hiding behind the potted tree!"

To his surprise, Gary burst out laughing. Harry stood there, feeling his anger quickly turn into mortification for having made a scene in the hallway in his first day--first hour, he corrected himself. Gary was actually laughing so hard he had tears coming down his face. He looked up at Harry, saw the look on his face, and quickly tried to restore some gravity to his expression. He didn't quite succeed, but he said, "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to do that. But I wondered for a while myself if I was the only one around here who noticed that. I didn't realize I'd become part of the problem myself!" His face quirked up towards another grin, and despite his efforts to the contrary Harry felt his face do the same.

For some reason, Harry felt reassured by this exchange. Suddenly, he felt a lot more comfortable around the older man, and said with a genuine smile of his own, "All right. If that's the case, then I know I'm not alone. I guess I can live with that."

Gary nodded. "Thanks. I know that must have cost you something there. And I really do apologize; I didn't mean to laugh at you like that. You just caught me unawares." Changing topics, he said, "So, you said you saw a man behind a tree. Where was this, in the Atrium?" Harry nodded. Grinning again, Gary asked, "Short? Dark hair? Pointy nose and a face like a weasel?"

"Yes! How did you know?" responded Harry, clearly taken aback.

"Oh, that's just Silk. He came here with me, you know," Gary revealed. "He's the one who got me in and out of all the places I had to go on my quest--the Prophecies called him 'the Guide,' but spying is the national industry of his country, and he was one of the best they ever produced. He was my right hand for a long time. But after he got married, his poor wife startled him so much that his wits slipped." Gary paused for a moment, shaking his head and smiling slightly, obviously thinking about Silk and his wife. "Anyway, we brought him here and put him in the Sidekick group, the one your friend's in, thinking that might help some. There hasn't been much improvement--he still hides all the time and tries to spy on people--but at least he's starting to talk to people and his keepers have discovered most of his hiding places. That helps a lot. We're almost there now--let's see if we can talk him out of there."

He paused at the end of the hallway. "Just a warning before we do this--keep your hands in plain view. He gets really nervous when he can't see what strange people are doing. It's an assassin's reflex, I guess." Then with another quirky smile, he said, "Here we go!"

They walked into the Atrium and went straight toward the appropriate tree grouping. "Silk!" Gary said, beaming again, "how nice to see you! I haven't seen you in a while! Have you met Harry, here? He and his wife just arrived today with their Sidekick, Ron--I guess you'll meet him tomorrow in Group, won't you?" Silk's eyes flickered rapidly back and forth between Harry and Gary, but he didn't say a word. Harry put on what he felt was a reassuring smile and made sure both of his hands were visible and still. Gary continued talking as if Silk had answered. "Why don't you walk with us upstairs--" He broke off as a harried-looking woman also in bright scrubs came in.

She saw them immediately and came over. "Prince Kheldar! There you are! Good afternoon, Gary. Thank you for finding him for me. He snuck away when I was looking for his medication."

"It's no problem, Nurse Charlene," Gary had a different smile on now, an amused look that said he understood quite well how difficult tracking Silk could be. "I was trying to convince him to walk upstairs with Harry and I so that I could return him to his rooms."

The nurse rolled her eyes, shrugged good-naturedly, and turned to the task of trying to get the little man to leave his hiding place. Gary beckoned, and he and Harry backed away silently towards the stairs on the other side of the Atrium. When they were out of earshot, Harry said, quietly, "Is everyone here as, umm..., as disturbed as that? Or are there some people here who are more, uh, normal?"

Gary chuckled softly, and replied, "No, Silk's one of our worse-off ambulatory cases. He really should have come here a lot sooner, probably right after I did, but he refused. When he first got here, he was so convinced that he was in a hostile situation where he had to sneak and spy all the time that the only way to get him into his rooms at night was for the staff to surround his hiding place, convince him he was under arrest, then march him back to his rooms for the night. It worked well for a little while, but then the idea of being under arrest made him think his room was a prison cell that he had to escape from, so he just tried harder and harder to get away from them. Poor guy," he concluded sadly. "It's hard to watch your friends go through something like that. Even sadder is that most of us have to go through that--watching our friends deteriorate, I mean. I just hope they can patch him up--well, if anyone can do it, the folks here can. They've managed some near-miracles with some of the non-ambulatory folks who've come for the long-term treatment program; hopefully they can work some more of that magic on Silk."

They had climbed the staircase in the Atrium and gone down a short hall. "Now, Harry, some general info about this place. The central staircase is there in the Atrium, but there are also ones at the ends of the halls. We're on the second floor now. Your room and your wife's room are on this floor. Men are to the right and women are to the left. We go this way," he said, turning down the appropriate hallway. "Let's see where they put you--check the cards on the door. You look on that side, I'll look over here." They continued down the hallway, more slowly now, Gary continuing his briefing as they went. "The staff bring breakfast to your room, usually around 7:30, but we have a communal dining room, cafeteria style, downstairs in the basement, for lunch and dinner. They serve lunch from noon to one, you can show up whenever you want in there, but we all usually eat dinner together at 6. So that gives you about an hour or so to settle in--oh, it looks like your friend is on this floor too, his name's Ron Weasley, right?"

Harry grunted something that passed for agreement, peering at a card. It definitely wasn't a name written in English; as he couldn't even make out the letters of the script, he assumed that it probably wasn't his room. "About how many people are there here right now?" he asked Gary casually.

"About thirty-five or forty at any given time, though sometimes it's ranged over fifty. You, your wife, and your friend Ron are the only ones here for this two-week session. We only have them a couple times a year so there are usually several series' worth of heroes and heroines needing support, but I guess the authors and publishers are a little out of cycle right now. Aha!" he said, stopping in front of a room. "This is your room, Harry. Quite close to the bathroom; you seem to have lucked out. I'm all the way down the other hall there," he said, gesturing back up the hallway towards an intersecting corridor, "so I have quite a trek!" He opened the door and ushered Harry in.

Harry was relieved to see that his suitcase had made it up, and, as far as he could tell, the wards were still in place, so no one had been in it. Good. It never hurt to take precautions. Gary continued on with his spiel as Harry looked around the room. "Like I mentioned, the bathrooms are up the hall a couple doors. There's a thermostat on the wall over there, and you can adjust the temperature of your own room to your liking. Extra blankets are in the closet; the staff will make the bed in the morning so you don't have to worry about that. Any other pressing questions?" he concluded.

"You said Hermione's--my wife's--room is down that way?" Harry asked.

"Yup. The women's rooms are on the opposite side of the corridor that leads to the Atrium; their rooms are marked just like this, so you can go check in on her if you want. Anything else?" At Harry's negative response, he grinned again and said, "Well, then, I'll leave you to settle in. Dinner's in about an hour; I'll pick you up, say, about five 'til to take you down?"

"Sure thing," Harry replied. "See you then--leave the door open please." Gary waved and disappeared back up the corridor, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts and his suitcase.

*****

Hermione's afternoon had been rather uneventful compared to Harry's. After they left him at Dr. Canedo's office, she, Ron, and Nurse Kellinore had gone a few more doors down the hall to the office of a Dr. Towson, who was to be her therapist. The whole idea of therapy was a problem from the start for her. Hermione's parents were dentists. Other than family physicians and fellow dentists, they looked down on most other types of medical practitioners, calling them either 'technicians' (specialists), or 'quacks' (chiropractors, shrinks, and the like), and they were very doubtful of the skills of each. Some of this had been passed to their daughter. She shuddered to think of what either of them would say if they knew she had checked into a facility like this to spend two weeks talking to a total stranger who was supposed to help her get her life in order.

Her first visit with this so-called 'doctor' had done nothing to dispel her suspicions. The man sat there beaming at her from the other side of the desk, telling her that everything would be fine when she left, and all she had to do was open up and trust him and tell him everything. The only things he'd said that caught her interest at all were the different types of group therapy that were available: art therapy, dance therapy, hydrotherapy, equine therapy, and more. She'd wondered why some of those things were on the packing list, but being a neat and orderly person who did not like to leave loose ends behind her, she had packed the extra socks,

swimming gear, and running shoes as requested.

In any case, she had surrendered her wand and been given the same speech about the schedule. She was quite proud of the fact that she had gone in there and sat through the whole thing without, she felt, betraying any sign of her nerves. Of course, she had been a little sharper than normal with the 'doctor,' but that was more from her lack of respect for his 'qualifications' than nerves, or at least so she told herself.

She had not, however, met her mentor. The other women currently residing in the clinic were currently in a group therapy session, which her mentor was leading. Another nameless nurse had shown her to her room, indicated the bathroom's location, and told her that this 'Kahlan' person would pick her up around six PM for dinner. Then she was left on her own, alone in an empty and impersonal room.

*****

Even before he met back up with Harry and Hermione to compare, Ron was convinced that his experience was the worst. With not even another word, Nurse Kellinore had taken him two more doors down on the other side of the hall, knocked, and left him there. When the door was opened, Ron was sure he was dreaming--or having a nightmare, more precisely. Beaming at him from the other side of the doorjamb was none other than Professor Lockhart. Ron was sure he'd died and gone to hell. There was no other possible explanation.

Or so he thought. It turned out that this wasn't actually their former DaDA professor, just someone who looked and acted a lot like him: cheesy beaming smile, overbearing, arrogant attitude, and all the rest. Dr. Bohne, he called himself. Ron spent most of that initial interview trying to figure out what he had done to deserve being stuck with a Lockhart lookalike again. If the time in the tunnel to the Chamber of Secrets hadn't been long enough to expiate whatever sin or sins he had committed, he didn't know what was. After being informed that he was part of the Sidekick group, he was introduced to a big blond guy who looked like he ate rocks for breakfast--or at least glued them on his arms under his shirt for muscles.

Kalten, however, turned out to be a very friendly, talkative guy with a goofy smile, who appeared not to have more than three or four brain cells to call his own. In his fictitious life, he told Ron, he had been a Pandion knight (whatever that was), but after his best friend had obliterated a third God, this time without recourse to any magical powers besides his own personal ones, Kalten had come a little unhinged and had been sent here for recovery.

Ron heard this story (and about a dozen others) while walking back up the hallway towards the Atrium on the way up to his room. Ron was obligatorily 'happy' to be told that his room was right near Kalten's. In the middle of the Atrium, Kalten had stopped, looked around furtively, and informed Ron that they were going to take a 'shortcut' and led him down a different hallway on the ground floor.

Well, that was a disaster. Kalten's so-called shortcut involved a stairway that led up to a restricted part of the building. A nurse coming down the hall where they came out saw them and made a huge stink. Kalten, however, had a way with women. With quite a bit of flattery and cajoling, he convinced her that they were just lost and that someone else had told him this stairwell led up to the men's sleeping quarters. Against her better judgment, Ron surmised, she had accepted this story and sent them back down the stairs with little more than a smiled warning.

There had been one interesting piece of information that came out of that impromptu tour. On their way back downstairs, Ron asked, "So why did we get yelled at for going on that floor? Are we not supposed to be there?"

Kalten shook his head no, with a funny lopsided grin on his face. "That's the furthest I've ever been on that floor. Good job, by the way, at playing along." He gave Ron a comradely slap on the back that nearly knocked him down the rest of the flight of stairs. "That's the restricted wing, third floor east. They have special cases there. We don't know anything about them, not who they are, what they did, what their problems are, or anything. We never even see them--they don't join us for group therapy or rec or meals or anything."

"Well," he amended himself, "there's at least one in a wheelchair. Sometimes he--we think it's a he--comes out on a balcony up there when it's nice and watches the lake. That's all we know, though."

"So no one knows anything else about these people?" pressed Ron.

Kalten shook his head. "Nope. Nothing else that I know at least, and I'm a nosy busybody who knows just about everything about everyone here." For some reason, he sounded quite impressed with himself for this.

That was the longest coherent passage Ron got out of Kalten all afternoon, and it thoroughly exhausted Kalten's knowledge of the topic. However, it had only begun to whet Ron's appetite for the topic. He mulled the few scraps of information over for a few minutes as Kalten rambled on about something or other, then he made up his mind and resolved to do something about fixing that, something big, sometime soon.

"So," he said, jumping in when Kalten stopped to take a breath, "tell me, is there anything else I should know about this place?"

"Like what?" asked Kalten, baffled.

"Like, the important stuff. For starters, how's the food?"

*****

Harry was sprawled out on his bed leafing through a folder of information on the various therapies, therapists, and recreation activities offered at St. Aphrael's when Gary tapped lightly on his open door. Harry tensed reflexively, having been caught off guard, but he forced himself to relax when he saw who it was.

Gary noted the reaction and nodded approvingly. "Ready for dinner?" he asked casually.

"Oh, yeah, give me just a minute. I was reading through all this stuff they left me and I guess I lost track of the time," Harry responded, gathering up the scattered pages of his packet from all over the bed. "Can you really take classes in pot throwing and fly-fishing here?"

"Yup," said Gary. "They offer all that stuff in the afternoons during Free Hour and sometimes in the evenings. Did those two interest you?"

Harry looked up from straightening his pile of brochures. "They sounded neat, useful in a way."

Gary grunted non-committally. "I'll check the master schedule for you later and let you know if they're being offered this session." He paused, probing tentatively. "Uh, have you decided how would you like me to introduce you to everyone else?" Gary inquired, hesitatingly, as Harry put the papers away and closed up the folder.

Harry looked a little startled, as if no one had ever asked something like that before. "Well, just as Harry, I guess," he answered.

Suddenly, Gary looked like he would rather be back facing down his Force of Darkness than standing here talking to Harry. "Um, well, yes, um, Dr. Canedo was supposed to tell you about that earlier. Did he tell you about picking a new name?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, he told me you had a new name, but from how he said it, it sounded like that was because you didn't like your old one." Harry was slightly baffled by the direction this conversation had turned.

Gary still looked uncomfortable. "Most of the people here aren't really going by their real names. They pick new names to help them get over their pasts and start a new life. Dr. Canedo thought that would be a good way for you to start, maybe a good first step in the right direction." He looked anywhere but at Harry as he said that.

"What, do you mean like I have to pick a new name? But I don't want one!" Harry burst out, sitting up with a jolt.

"No, no, no, Harry, you don't have to do anything here. But Dr. Canedo just thought that it might help you--" Gary began.

"I don't care what that crackpot doctor says! He looks like my uncle--like my uncle on crack! I never trust people who look like that!" Harry was up off the bed now; if he'd had his wand, it would've been out and pointed straight at Gary's heart. As it was, he had his empty right hand raised between them.

"What, like your uncle, or like they're on crack?" Gary shot back. As soon as it was out of his mouth, he realized how ridiculous that sounded, and Harry realized how ridiculous he must look, and they both broke up laughing. Harry sat down weakly on the bed, still laughing, and pulled on his loafers.

They were still laughing as they left the room. Harry pulled the door shut behind him, noting with some concern that there were no locks on the doors. Harry practically had to trot as he followed the taller man down the hallway towards the smells drifting up from below.

*****

There were a few other patients filing through the Atrium as Harry and Gary came down the stairs from the dormitories. Harry was relieved to see that they were all wearing 'normal' clothing--as in, not bathrobes and bunny slippers. The strangest he saw were a couple of swords and a guy in desert-looking robes. He and Gary followed them down a hallway opposite where the offices were, then down another wide staircase towards the source of the smells. According to an easel near a door where people were queuing, the menu today was roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and carrots. 'Mmmm,' thought Harry, 'if it tastes half as good as it smells, I think I can stand living here for two weeks.'

He and Gary filed through the line, then Gary excused himself to the staff table and Harry found an empty table for three. Ron came through the line just as Harry set his tray down, spotted Harry, and worked his way across the room. The two sat down to wait for Hermione, and like any males, immediately started working on their dinners.

"So," asked Harry around mouthfuls of chicken and potatoes, "what did you do today?"

"Mmmrmph," said Ron. Harry just looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry. Man, my mentor was right, they do have pretty good food here. Oh, yeah, I met my doctor--that was bloody scary, Harry! He looks just like Lockhart! I swear, I nearly fainted with he opened the door!" Harry laughed, and Ron continued, "And then after that, my mentor, who has the muscles of an ox and the brain of a pigeon, got us lost on the way to my room, and we got yelled at for going into a restricted area. By the time I found my room, I needed a rest!" He heaved a sigh. "What did you get up to? Have you seen Hermione?"

"Not since they left me at the doctor's office. If yours looks like Lockhart, mine's my Uncle Vernon with a plastic grin stuck on his face and a broken record of canned laughter in his pocket."

"A wha'??" Ron looked puzzled around a mouthful of carrot.

"Never mind. He just kept laughing and grinning all the time. It almost made me feel sick. Anyway, then I met my mentor, Gary--see the blond guy up there with the staff?" Harry pointed as discretely as he could. "That's him, he's really nice. We went upstairs--your room is just a couple doors down from mine--"

Ron looked up from his food long enough to grin, "That's cool! Not quite like the Gryffindor Tower, but close enough."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. And I flipped through some papers they gave me. They have all kinds of rec classes here, stuff like horse riding and dance and stuff. They even offer pot-throwing here--maybe we should take that one and teach it to your mom?" he ended.

"She could have used it, all right," laughed Ron, "It was probably the only time Lucius Malfoy ever got food on his clothes!!" They shared a laugh at the thought. Malfoy had come to the Burrow at Voldemort's request to try to kidnap Ginny for some evil ritual. Mrs. Weasley had been in the kitchen cooking when he crept through the back door, and a soon as she saw who it was, she hit him with the first spell she had at hand--it happened to be her famous cream sauce that she was making for dinner. When that failed to stop him, she seized the nearest skillet and whacked him over the head with it. He was still out cold when the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic arrived a few minutes later.

They spotted Hermione standing at the end of the buffet line with a full plate and a glass of milk, and waved for her to come over. As she seated herself at the table, Harry asked her, "Did you hear about all the different rec classes they offer here?" She nodded, busy with her salad. He burst out, "Herm, why didn't you tell me to bring my broom? I think I want to learn fly-fishing." She set her fork down and gave him a puzzled look. He tried to explain, "Don't I need my broom to do that? Fly and fish at the same time?" Hermione burst out laughing, nearly choking on her mouthful of greens, and even Ron looked like he was fighting down a laugh.

"Harry," said Hermione between guffaws, "fly fishing means using little fake flies-- the insects--as bait to catch the fish!!"

Harry shot Ron a look, and Ron nodded in confirmation, fighting down laughter of his own. Hermione was still carrying on strong, rocking back and forth in her chair and laughing uncontrollably. "But," protested Harry, "I've never heard of that before." He turned to Ron and said, "Don't you think that's an almost reasonable interpretation of what that could mean??" He sounded like a puppy, begging for some reassurance or support that he was still a good boy despite that colossal blunder. Despite his Muggle upbringing, Harry still had a number of big gaps in his education.

Ron condescendingly patted Harry on the arm, shaking his head and still working to suppress chuckles. "Of course, Harry, it's a perfectly reasonable interpretation," he said, "If I hadn't known better, I would have thought of that myself."

Hermione gave another one of her very unladylike snorts. "Quidditch players!" she griped. "Always have their brains in the air. What's that sticker you have on your broom, Harry, 'I'd rather be flying'? Do you think you can manage to stand a sport where you have to stand on the ground, eh, Mr. Quidditch Master of the Year?" she said, nudging Harry in the ribs with her elbow.

Ron and Harry traded grins. Try as he might, he couldn't get Hermione to see the fun in flying. She didn't understand his obsession with Quidditch or why he had signed on to play for England in next year's World Cup.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Men! Well, Harry, were there any other 'interesting-looking' classes that you wanted to try? Perhaps we should make sure you know what they are before you sign up."

Remembering what had happened with the first thing he mentioned, Harry hurriedly shook his head no and resolved to find out what 'pot-throwing' was before he and Ron went to it. His wife and his best friend were still grinning at him, apparently enjoying their chance to have a good laugh at his expense, so he said, "For that, I think I'm just going to leave you two alone for a while to talk about fly fishing, since you're both apparently so fond of it. I'm going to go get a salad." He picked up his dirty dishes and flounced off in a pretend huff, leaving a giggling Hermione behind.

"Good God, look at him eat!" Ron said in a hushed whisper a moment later.

"Who?" asked Hermione, still trying to get herself under control.

"The big blond guy over there by the wall," Ron responded. He was trying very hard not to stare as Kalten used both hands to shovel food towards his mouth, so he waved in the general direction with his fork. "That's Kalten-- he's my mentor."

Hermione's jaw dropped as she watched Kalten move from his third plate of food to a fourth that he had ready waiting beside him. He must have sensed them staring at him, because he looked up and right at them, then grinned and waved at Ron, who waved weakly back.

"H'llo, Ron," called Kalten from halfway across the room, around a mouthful of food. "How'z you? D'you annah yady wanna c'm shh'it 'ere wif' me?" He banged on the table next to him to punctuate the end of his query. The words were nearly unintelligible since Kalten hadn't stopped feeding himself as he spoke.

Hermione risked a glance at Ron, who appeared to be made quite queasy from the sight. Each time he tried to open his mouth to reply, he turned a more distinct shade of green. Fortunately, they were spared having to respond. A tiny, kimono-wearing lady with jet-black hair piled high on her head was sitting at another table adjacent to Kalten's. When he had first opened his mouth, she had leveled an icy look at him--the kind that McGonagall had used to stop nonsense in its tracks. As Kalten started to say something else to them, she stood and said, in a tone of voice cold enough to match the look on her face, "Sir Knight. This behavior is inappropriate and uncouth. You are a disgrace to the name of your order. One would think you had never seen food or proper eating implements before, or learned proper ways to conduct a conversation or talk to ladies."

At the sound of her voice, Kalten froze, cringing back into his chair and seemingly growing smaller as she continued to berate him on the state of his manners. He was nearly hiding under the table by the time she finished. Hermione was impressed. This woman was incredibly petite, no more than shoulder-high on Hermione, but she was facing down that hulking brute without even raising her voice. When she finished her tirade, Kalten apologized profusely in a small, timid voice. She ignored him and returned to her seat with a stately pace that said setting ignorant men in their places was part of her everyday work. But as she turned to seat herself, she looked right at Hermione and winked. Hermione was so startled she nearly dropped her fork. She quietly began to reassess the other people she could see, wondering what other kinds of superheroes were hidden behind all the normal-seeming exteriors.

Harry returned from his trip to the salad bar. "Ron, are you okay?" he asked worriedly. "You look like you're going to be sick. Hermione, what happened?" Ron still looked green though not quite as bad as a moment before, so Hermione told Harry the short form of what had happened. "Wow, that's got to be pretty bad, if the sight of him eating made Ron sick. He grew up with the twins, remember? Mrs. Weasley dreaded taking them out in public because they'd either talk with food in their mouths, spit food all over the table laughing, or hex someone's food with who-only-knows-what results." Hermione laughed, remembering Mrs. Weasley's adamant insistence about seating Fred and George at different tables at their wedding reception. Even Ron smiled a bit at the memory of that encounter.

As the giggles subsided, Ron suddenly remembered what he had to tell them. "Hey! Guess what I learned from my mentor today?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I haven't even met mine yet. She's been busy. I've been shown around by nurses who probably have better things to do."

Ron shrugged, then resumed his excited, conspiratorial recitation. "Anyway, they have a restricted wing here. My brainless mentor took me up there on a 'shortcut' so he could see it with a good excuse. But anyway, then he told me they have mystery patients here. No one's allowed in that part of the building, and nobody knows anything about the patients in there. They never do anything with everyone else and no one ever sees them."

Harry snorted. "Sounds a lot like our first year--restricted areas that we keep ending up in, knowing more than is good for us and trying to find out more..."

Hermione butted in, "Yes, and remember how much trouble we got into! Those hundred and fifty points you two and Neville cost Gryffindor! And Harry having to face Voldemort!"

The two guys, however, hadn't heard a word she said. Their eyes were locked on each other's, gleaming, with identical grins plastered on their faces. She knew then, without a doubt, that they planned to uncover the mystery behind the mystery patients before they left.

With an exasperated sigh, she took each by an arm and shook them. "You two! Hello! Remember, we're here for therapy, not more of what made us messed up in the first place. I don't want to hear anything about you two creeping around where you shouldn't and getting in trouble. Do you hear me?? Those poor people up there need the help of the staff--they don't need any help from you! Either of you!" They just transferred those wicked grins from each other to her, and she knew she was doomed.

*****

The evening passed uneventfully, the three of them just sitting around in a comfy room full of couches and overstuffed chairs--much like the Gryffindor common room, she thought. Hermione had started reading a new book on Dark countercurses, while the boys--- 'the men,' she corrected herself, had sat there talking quietly and laughing. Each had turned beet red at least a couple of times during the conversation, causing the other to laugh uproariously, so Hermione assumed they were talking about Boys'-- MENS'-- Stuff. Then Ron, with characteristic modesty, let out a resounding belch.

Hermione groaned aloud and put her head into her hands, massaging her temples. Glancing up, she saw them both acting perfectly normally, or as normally as they ever behaved, looking for all the world as if nothing particularly strange had just happened. 'No,' she thought ruefully, 'no matter what else changes, Harry and Ron will always be boys--at least at heart.' A moment later, the significance of that thought finally registered, causing her face to split into a real smile. With a small laugh, she closed her book and walked over to the couch where the guys were sitting. "I'm going up to bed now--will the two of you please try not to go looking for trouble for the rest of tonight?" she said, startling them both a little as she ruffled their hair. Harry turned to look up at her with an angelic smile that proclaimed his absolute innocence from all wrongdoing whatsoever (at least to anyone who didn't know him), but from the way they both flushed and Ron looked guilty, she had a strong suspicion that they were still thinking and talking about that restricted wing. Hermione gave up trying to keep a straight face. "You know what?" she said with a laugh, "I love you, Harry Potter," and leaned down impulsively to give him a kiss. She smiled again and gave Ron a peck on the cheek. "And I love you too, Ron. Good night." Ron just sat there looking absolutely stunned. Harry caught sight of him and gave Hermione a mischievous grin as she turned away.

"Love you too, hon. Good night," called Harry as she left, then he turned to mercilessly teasing Ron about his reaction.

****