Title: We Shall All Be Healed
Author: Daydreamishly
Pairing: RLHP; mentions HPGW and RLNT. Side pairings are canon.
Rating: T, but subject to change.
Warning(s): Slash. References non-canon major character death. Shifting POV.
Summary: Ginny's been dead for two years. Remus has been dead for twenty. Dolohov, a week. Which is, incidentally, how long Harry has been dreaming about trying to escape from a coffin. Canon-compliant through epilogue. 100 themes challenge.

Disclaimer: Characters, world not owned by me, other than Madam Jane Mullins and Maddox Brown, as well as any other original characters that crop up unannounced. Everything else is JKR.

Chapter One. 900 Words.

Theme 068: Hero.

Being in this office always reminded Harry strangely of Madame Trelawney's old divination classroom, more velvet and incense than air to breathe. Not because of any explicit similarity, but as a reference of a place becoming an extension of self- as much a physical characteristic of a person as hairstyle or eye colour or jaw shape- perhaps these two paralleled. But while the divination tower had been drenched in drama and eccentricity, this office was sleek, clean lines; very modern, and analytical. There were dull, muted blues and greys for the colour scheme, selected perfunctorily, as though its resident would have preferred to do away with the intrusion to her very clearly defined work environment, and the furniture was all dark and leather-covered; well made and comfortable, but a bit impersonal, all the same. It belonged, incongruously, to the woman whose job it was to make sure Harry Potter (amongst others) was in touch with his emotions.

Harry had been seeing a therapist at St Mungo's since his wife died. Her name was Mullins, and she was young enough that her time at Hogwarts was a few years removed from the war. Muggle-born as well; Harry's celebrity was relatively obscure to her; a vaguely remarkable name in an endless system of scarred veterans. This was why he liked her: his issues were part of a person to her, not a legacy.

About the time it all started (the recent it, not the "it" people usually associated him with), Harry described to Mullins a recurring dream he had been having for the last week. Their appointments were now bi-weekly; down from the three times a week Harry was ordered to meet her after Ginny's death, and his subsequent breakdown. When Harry told her that every night of the last seven, he had imagined himself in a coffin, desperately clawing his way out, before he stopped to literally howl with frustration, Mullins had interpreted readily, "You feel trapped by your high profile."

Harry told that her this was not news. This was a succinct one-lined summary of the last twenty-five years of his life.

"The Dolohov case has brought you from the gossip columns back into the spotlight," she reasoned, and again, Harry was not impressed by the obviousness of the conclusion. Antonin Dolohov had died the week previous, old, but too young for it to have been natural. The press had followed Harry everywhere of late, asking if Ihe thought the mysterious and sudden passing of the criminal in his cell at Azkaban had been an assassination by other former members of the Death Eaters who were trying to keep certain information secret, or if he'd been tortured by the guards, when it seemed that very few were enthusiastic about his not being executed, or if he'd poisoned himself.

"So you're saying that once I solve the case, and everything goes back to normal, the dreams will go away." Easier said than done. Azkaban was not even under Harry's line of jurisdiction; as an auror, he dealt with putting people in prison, not keeping them there. There were separate lines of authority to handle this. But Harry was the hero of the war, and the public expected him to do something about it. So on top of running his own Department at the Ministry (which, in all truthfulness, had at least partially been delegated to his second-in-command, Ron Weasley, since Ginny's death, although that didn't change its being a time-consuming and stressful job, with little to no opportunity for immediate gratification), Harry was now examining autopsy reports and interviewing Azkaban officials and residents whilst the people at the Prophet stepped on his heels everywhere he went.

"Maybe you should take a vacation."

Harry involuntarily let a single humourless bark of laughter like a cannon shot go before letting his head fall against the back of the leather armchair he sat in. "Yeah, that's likely."

"Seriously," Mullins insisted, sitting forward eagerly in her chair. She had curly black hair that fell forward into her broad, tanned, heart-shaped face. Her eyes widened a little, bright with intelligent thought, and her already thin lips pressed together momentarily into a single line of concern. She wasn't a pretty girl, but well-groomed, and shrewd; as Ravenclaw as they came. "You know yourself well enough to know you have a hero complex to begin with. You can't fix everything. This isn't your responsibility. Let the proper channels deal with this, and you go to some quiet island in the Carribbean somewhere- buy one if you have to; you certainly have the money- and be calm."

Harry groaned. "You aren't going to give me a choice about this, are you?"

Mullins grinned, abandoned the couch opposite him, and walked over to her desk, before turning out a slip of paper with her prescription and signature, which he was required to submit to the bureaucratic channels in order to retain my position at the Ministry. "Sorry, Doctor's orders. Don't look at this as a bad thing, now. You haven't had a proper block of time off in six years. And no one would call bereavement much of a holiday."

"Yeah, well." Harry accepted the paper, glancing at it and resigning himself to the maelstrom of bad press ahead. His personal assistant, Maddox Brown, was going to have a nervous breakdown. "Tell that to Rita Skeeter."

A/N: New update will post tomorrow. This has been sitting on my hard drive for forever and a half, and watching everyone else do NaNoWriMo made me feel guilty for not writing much the last few weeks. So here's this. Hopefully I'll turn the majority of it out in a timely manner. Sorry for no Remus this chapter; he'll be here shortly, I promise.