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"I'm sure." Hermione sounded like she was treading cautiously. "Er... so, you do know that it was mixed-up, then?"

"Yeah. Snape got me some help, see. Well, I knew before that, actually, but I couldn't stop. It was like I was, I don't know. Um, compulsive about it. That's the word Marsha uses. Oh, Marsha's my therapist."

Ron leaned forward. "What's a therapist?"

"Oh, honestly, Ronald. Wizards have them, too. It's someone you can talk to when you're having trouble coping, or--"

"But isn't that what a family's for?" Ron frowned, then. "And you have a real dad, now. So why couldn't you just talk to Snape, Harry? Or um, us?"

"I did talk to him. I mean, I do talk to him. But I needed more. And as for you..." Harry shrugged as he sat nervously perched on the edge of his chair. Maybe this was actually the hard part. "I was, you know. Ashamed, I guess. I mean, I knew even when I was doing it that it wouldn't make sense to anyone else." He smiled then, just a little. "But now I can see that it doesn't really make sense at all."

"So you don't, er, stick yourself any longer, then?" asked Hermione.

Harry wished that he could just say no to that, but he'd come too far to start lying now. Or, not lying, really. Misdirecting. He didn't care how Slytherin it might be; when it came to his friends, it would be wrong. "Well, yes and no. I mean, I haven't stuck myself since I was back at Hogwarts, but sometimes I still want to. I mean, sometimes I kind of crave it, and I wish more than anything that I had a needle. I was keeping a needle on me pretty much all the time, back near the end of term. And it felt... I don't know. Like if I had one to use anytime I needed it, I was in control. But now I can't keep one around, in case I'm tempted, right? And..." He sighed. "I miss it."

"Oh, Harry."

Hermione sounded so sad. It made Harry feel guilty. It made him want a needle, actually.

"How can you miss it?" Ron's question was too loud in the small room, though not quite a shout.

Harry thought back and tried to explain. "I don't know... it was like, when I had one, and I'd stuck myself a couple of times, I'd go into this... well, sort of like a trance. There was nothing but me and the needle, and when I'd stick it in, the pain would keep me in this peaceful state where I didn't have to worry about anything. But that was only after a while. After I got really used to doing it."

Ron looked like he felt sick and was trying hard not to show it.

Hermione, on the other hand, was practically glowing with compassion. It might have irritated Harry, except that for once he was glad of it. "But you're better now," she said, her tone more a command than a question.

Harry smiled again. "Yes."

"Good thing you had your dad to go to," said Ron, swallowing. "I don't really understand, Harry, but if you're getting better, that's all that counts."

"And I'm happy you felt you could tell us," said Hermione, nodding. She didn't add finally, but there was a hint of it in her tone.

"Snape's idea." He had to be completely honest, right?

"Really?" Now it was Hermione's turn to widen her eyes in shock.

"Yeah. He won't let on very often, but he does think that the three of us make a good team, you know."

"Three of us." Ron sounded a little satisfied by that. A second later, Harry realised why. "So Draco doesn't know, eh? Well, no wonder Snape got him out of the way like that, then."

"He did that to keep Draco from rubbing it in that he knew first." When Ron scowled, Harry felt like he had to explain. "I didn't tell him, Ron. It's just, he was there when I went down to ask Snape for help, right? He overheard."

"Eavesdropping bastard."

"It wasn't like that."

Ron sat back, huffing a little. "As long as he hasn't been making something of it. Because if he has, I'll knock him into next week, Harry--"

"He's been great," said Harry quickly. "Look, I know what Draco's like. A lot of the time he's a right git, but he hasn't been one about this. Not even once. And when I need him, he's there, Ron."

"Well, he should be, if he's your brother," said Hermione. "Right, Ron?"

"Yeah, all right." Ron took a breath and looked Harry in the eye. "You're sure he's not making fun, or threatening to tell people, or anything else nasty?"

"Whenever he thinks I might be starting up again, he threatens to tell our dad," said Harry wryly. "But he's never once made fun, no."

"That sounds all right, then," said Ron grudgingly.

Hermione had moved past that, by then. "This is why you seemed distant near the end of term?"

"Yeah, and one reason I told you was so you could watch out for that if I start having trouble again," admitted Harry. "Which I don't think will happen, but just in case, I wanted to tell you I might need help. Just keep in mind that I won't appreciate it until afterwards."

"We'll keep an eye out if you start acting oddly," said Hermione, nodding. "Do you want us to tell your father, or...?"

"You might ask to see my arms first, to be sure."

"You weren't using healing spells?"

"Poke yourself enough and they stop working."

"Oh."

"Salves?"

Harry sighed. "Trying to give me ideas? I thought about stealing some."

"No, I just..." Hermione shrugged. "I don't want to do the wrong thing again, Harry. I still feel awful about that letter, you know."

"Don't. Even Snape's forgiven you by now." Harry smiled, the itching in his arms fading now that the worst of it was over. "So, Ron. How about going flying, now? Which broom would you rather use, Snape's old Cleansweep, or Draco's new Firebolt XL?"

"Oh, he gets to choose," said Hermione, smiling like she knew thought a change of subject a very good idea. "Now why is that? Perhaps I'd like to try a Firebolt for once."

"All right. I'll take the Cleansweep and you two can share my own Firebolt and Draco's XL."

That brought her up short. "Really? Er... what is Draco going to say about you lending his broom out?"

"Nothing, if he doesn't find out. And if he does, well, Snape's always reminding him to share it with me."

Ron stood up, bouncing on the balls of his feet, though he thought to ask, "Why didn't he get you one, too?"

"I wanted something else more," admitted Harry, summoning brooms before leading them both outside. "You two, allowed to visit."

"Oh, Snape would have given you that anyway!" exclaimed Ron. "I never would have guessed it, Harry, but he's... a little bit soft when it comes to you. You know what I mean?"

Harry did know. When he thought about it, he felt like he was wrapped in a blanket, drinking cocoa before a warm fire.

"So tell him you want an XL," urged Ron. "You'll need one next year, to play against Draco. You don't want Slytherin winning the Cup again. You are coming back as Seeker, right?"

Harry really hadn't thought about it. Too much else going on. "I have to talk to Ginny about that."

"It's your last year!"

Harry shrugged. He still loved Quidditch, but a lot of other things were more important. "We told everybody that my supposedly wonky magic had messed up my flying, remember?"

"So, tell them that you practiced up over the summer," urged Ron.

"Or tell Ron to stop pressuring you."

"I am actually thinking about it," Harry said. "All right? It's a bit sticky for me. You wouldn't understand. Your family was always sorted into Gryffindor. And Snape likes to see Slytherin win, right?"

"Oh."

"But I really do want to play against Draco. It'd be fun, now." Harry sighed. "I'll figure it out, somehow. Let's just have some fun."

They were all still flying when Snape and Draco returned an hour later. Harry slowed the Cleansweep and landed in front of them. Draco glanced up at his XL. Ron was on it by then, but Draco didn't say anything. He just rolled his eyes and went into the cottage.