Walking away hadn't been easy. It had been anything but easy – still, it was the choice I had made. And it was one that I would stick to.

Once the battle of Hogwarts had ended and I had seen over everyone that I needed to, I had decided that I was done with the Wizarding world. I had witnessed the destruction that a simple spell could cause when paired with a wand and I had decided that I wanted none of it. Merlin, I had watched as far too many of the people I loved fell after a single curse hit them. It was unbearable, simply enough to turn the stomach to the extent that I was ready to hand my wand in to the Ministry. The world that had opened so much wonder for me, that had explained how I was able to do things that my parents simply couldn't, had become corrupted over the space of a year, and I was ready to call it quits.

The Ministry of Magic, however, disagreed.

The wizarding population was of such a low number after the battle, that they were reluctant to let anyone completely turn their back to magic. A ruling had been passed that anyone wishing to turn their back to the wizarding world was required to go a full five years without using any form of magic before their wish to hand in their wand could be considered. Even then it was up to debate.

All the books I'd consulted had said that having your magic bound and stripped was the most painful thing and even now, almost four and a half years after that fateful night, I was struggling against the temptation. Of course, I hadn't stepped foot in the wizarding parts of England since I had left but the temptation to reach for my wand that was hidden in my flat was almost irresistible. I could cast a simple Accio and the counter would be reset again to 0. But I had more resolve than that. I would have to have more restraint.

One of the compromises that I had made with the Ministry involved working in tandem with the department of St Mungo's that focused on helping people recover after a physical injury had restricted their use of their body. The Wizarding world, for all its ego, had recently been forced to admit that sometimes Muggle treatments were superior to magical treatments that were available. One such being physiotherapy, something I specialised in.

It had taken one medical paper for Wizards and Witches to begin to realise that even after bone and muscle was magically grown and healed, they would need to work to regain their previous control. They were a little surprised that after healing muscles, an individual needed to work those said muscles in order to be able to regain their usual range of movement without pain. Sometimes I thought that Wizards believed that magic was capable of solving every single problem they faced. If that were true, there would be no laws of what magic could and couldn't do.

I escorted one of my patients out of my office and returned to find one of St Mungo's messenger owls perched on the edge of my desk. Casting a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure that no muggles had spied that appearance of the bird, I shut the door behind me just be sure. Approaching the owl, I reached into the top drawer and drew out a small jar of owl treats. Shaking some out onto my hand, I extended my palm towards the owl. Satisfied by the offering, the owl dropped the letter. It ate out of my hand until the snacks were all finished and then it settled itself comfortably where it was standing; it wasn't going to leave without an answer.

Picking up the envelope, I broke the wax seal at the back and unfolded the parchment that was inside. Leaning back against the desk and propping myself against it, I read over the pretty standard form; it was to announce that yet another magical patient had been referred to me for a standard course of physiotherapy. Making a mental note to ensure that the patient, whose name hasn't been added to the form – which was utterly ridiculous – signed the security clauses and the protocol about secrecy when it came to magic , I prepared to pen a response back.

Straightening up and moving to take my seat again, I looked at the back of the parchment where there was a slight note that because my patient apparently couldn't make it to the preliminary meeting where we would discuss their magic free conduct, their manager would instead be dropping by. Jotting down the manager's contact details, I reached for a fresh piece of paper.

Picking up my pen, I wrote back to the hospital with a list of times and dates that were suitable for me and signed my name at the end. Closing the lid of the pen, I read over the short letter to make sure that everything was up to standard and was quickly satisfied. Simple use of a pen and paper was so much easier than using parchment and quills and ink pots. First, there was no chance of the ink pot tumbling over and spilling, there was no smearing of ink that took far too long to dry and the sharp tip of the pen certainly didn't pierce the paper as often as a quill did.

Fishing out a clean envelope and writing the address of the hospital down on the front, I folded the letter and placed it inside. Sealing the back of the envelope with a small piece of tape, I held it out towards the owl. It stood in preparation, leaning forward to take the envelope in its mouth and was just short of snapping at my fingers. I was certain it was done on purpose.

Taking a final moment to prepare itself, it flapped its wings just once and then it was airborne and flying out of the open window of my office. My eyes followed its progress only until the receptionist rang my office to let me know that my next patient was here. Picking up the receiver, I told him to let the patient in.

Pushing myself to my feet, I approached the sink and washed my hands clean off the lingering smell of owl treats. It was hardly the time for the wizarding world to dominate my thoughts; I had patients to see to.

It wasn't long after that I heard back from St. Mungo's to let me know that they had made arrangements with the patient on my behalf. It had taken some colossal restraint to hold myself from sending a strongly worded letter back in return; because they hadn't so much as told me that since the patient couldn't make any of the times I had suggested, they had given him an appointment time without double checking my availability. Simply because they couldn't be bothered to check up with me, I had to rearrange my appointment with the client I was originally supposed to be seeing at the scheduled time. And as if that wasn't bad enough, when the time arrived for me to meet up with my new client, it wasn't even him who turned up. It was his one of his staff.

But still, I welcomed the man who looked no older than me into my office and gestured without a word for him to take a seat. The wizard, clearly a pureblood from the way he eyed the pen on my desk with such an avid fascination, did as ordered. His wide-eyed appraisal ended only after I had closed the door and taken my seat across from him.

"Thank you for taking the time to see me," I began pleasantly, even if I was rather disgruntled about having to rearrange the session with my original patient. Thankfully the patient, an older woman who's taken quite a fall was understanding. Her wife, on the other hand, hadn't been so willing to see things from my point of view –

"It's no problem, Lamb," the still unnamed man said hurriedly. Almost instantly, I started to rearrange the pens on my desk; how strange it was to hear someone address me by my surname alone. It was such a … Wizard thing to do. Very few muggles I had met referred to someone solely by their surname.

"Of course, Mr …"

"Cule," he supplied almost instantly. The surname, ringing no bells with me, had me wondering if we'd attended school at the same time. Or even if we'd attended the same school.

"Right, Mr Cule," I murmured, wondering how to progress. Eventually, I sighed, picking up a pen and held it at both ends. "It really is a shame that your … client couldn't come with you."

"I did try to confess him," Cule insisted with a sheepish smile. He adjusted his position in his chair, "But he very rarely listens to me – even if I am his manager."

"Let me guess, a Gryffindor?" I arched a wry eyebrow that had Cule nodded so empathetically that I couldn't help but smile. Not wanting to get distracted, I glanced back towards the patient's notes that I had removed from the file in preparation. Twirling the pen in my hands, I gave the notes another glance over to make sure I hadn't missed anything. I hadn't. "The notes let me know that the patient is a quidditch player, one that the team needs back at his full potential. But I can't exactly treat someone if I don't even know their name."

"St Mungo's said something about patient confidentiality – " he trailed off uncertainly and I struggled to roll my eyes. How did that make any sense when he was now my patient? Honestly.

"Of course, they did," I sighed heavily. "I have to warn you, I won't be able to give you an estimate for when he can begin to play quidditch again without actually seeing him in person and assessing his condition myself. But I'm guessing that you want him to be all fixed up before the Quidditch season begins?"

"Yes, definitely." Cule leaned forward towards my desk, voice lowering slightly as he asked, "Do you think that will be possible?"

"I can assure that I will try my very best to get him to be well enough to play," I evaded, "but I can't do it on my own. Your player will have to do most of the work, if he isn't keeping up with the daily exercises that I assign him, there'll be no point in attending these sessions in the first place."

"Don't worry," Cule assured with a smile. "He'll definitely do as told – probably more than that."

"He shouldn't overstrain himself either," I warned, my mind briefly flicking back towards a certain Quidditch player who was always willing to exhaust himself when it came to his love of the game. It appeared all Quidditch players were the same. Rummaging through my desk, I drew out a clean piece of paper to begin writing out my first correspondence to my patient who I hadn't even met yet – God. "As I said earlier, I can't make any promises but I'll try my best."

"Thank you," Cule offered me an honest smile. "The team need our star keeper – if Oliver can't play, then we're done for."

That name - it was enough to have my pen coming to an instant still. For a moment, I allowed myself to entertain the thought that Cule wasn't the manager to the Wizard I had left behind in the Wizarding world, but like all fantasies I had of the Wizarding world, it was shattered into pieces. Of course, it could be another Quidditch player that shared his first name, but what were the chances? Breathing out slowly, I forced myself to finish writing the short note and almost stopped myself from signing it with my full name. I did it anyway.

"We can certainly try our best." Folding the note in half, I handed it off towards Cule who accepted it with curious eyes. "This is a note for your client, just some things I think he needs to know before he comes in to see me for the first time."

"Is – it that it?" He was hesitant to stand, even after I nodded. "Are we done?"

"I can't exactly do much without having him here," I justified with a shrug, before rising to my feet so he would follow my lead. "Please make sure that Wood knows that, since I work primarily with muggles, he shouldn't use any sort of magic when he enters the surgery. If he does, then the machinery will stop working, setting us back by who knows how long and I won't hesitate to set the Ministry on him because of the trouble."

"Of course," Cule assured me, seeming more than a little relieved that we were done so quickly. "Where should I book – "

"At the reception desk, you can schedule the appointment as per for whenever fits you best." With another smile, I managed a quiet, "Thank you for coming in to see me."

"Thank you," he said in return, leaving eventually and shutting the door behind him.

I was quick to sink back to my chair. Dropping my face into my hands, I breathed out deeply; Oliver Wood. How was I going to face Oliver Wood again?

When the day for Oliver's appointment finally approached, I grew more and more on edge with each passing client. Part of me wanted nothing more than to chicken out, to have one of the other physiotherapists tend to him but that would only wind me in more trouble with the Ministry. So, I grinned and bore it. Although, I couldn't help but spend a little extra time with the patient that I was supposed to see before Oliver; just to buy myself some more time. After all, I wasn't the Gryffindor; he was. But unfortunately, I had to eventually send the patient away and returned to my seat to wait for Wood's entry.

Unable to stop my fidgeting, I settled for picking up a pen and then twiddling it between hands that were rooted to my lap. That way at least, he wouldn't be able to see how outwardly nervous I was. All the mental preparation I had done for seeing Wood again was absolutely useless when he knocked on the door of my office.

When he didn't enter straight away, I called out, "Come in."

He listened then. Walking into my office, he shut the door behind him, all whilst refusing to take his eyes off of me. I had expected to see some massive change in him from the last time I'd seen him; resting on one of the beds in the Hospital Wing after having been knocked off his broom during the aerial assault he'd led against the death eaters. Perhaps the most drastic change was that he was awake now, eyes open and pinning me to my seat with a fierce bite. The weight of his gaze was so heavy that I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes for more than a few seconds. Or rather, that was until I remembered that he was here to see me. He was my client, nothing more and I needed to get a grip on my emotions.

Dropping the pen in my lap, I clasped my hands together and propped them against the table. With a hesitant smile, I greeted, "Wood. Why don't you take a seat?"

If he saw something off against my use of his surname, he said nothing as he approached the open seat across from me. He took some time to sit, and my eyes catalogued the way he moved, making sure to ease the strain he placed on his injured shoulder. When he was finally comfortable, he asked, "How have you been?"

It was such a benign question that I honestly hadn't expected to hear him ask me, but I managed a quiet, "Good."

"Good," he echoed after me with a slight nod. Still, his eyes refused to leave my face, but the intensity of his gaze had eased. It lessened and warmed, the ice melted to leave the tender warmth that I had so clearly associated with him. "I haven't seen you since the war."

What he really meant to say, lingered unsaid. And yet I heard it all the same. I couldn't let it remain ignored for much longer; I needed to address it or else we'd never be able to progress any further.

"I didn't really want to linger in the Magical world after the battle," I tried to justify, hating how it came out as some feeble excuse. "I couldn't bring myself to stay there much longer."

"Why not?" he pressed without pause; I should have expected it. And yet I hadn't/

"There wasn't anything there to hold me back."

"No?" He arched a disbelieving eyebrow, and my answer, clearly a wrong one had the ice returning to his eyes.

"Let's not discuss the past now," I suggested with a forced smile. "We need to start talking about your injury; how did you wind up dislocating your shoulder?"

"I was practising," was all he shared and the way he was looking at me was as if he was daring me to get him to say any more. No doubt, if I tried to dig any deeper, he would give me the answer only in exchange for my answer to whatever it was that he wanted to know.

"I'm not surprised," I murmured, not falling into his trap. Retreating back into my professional role as someone responsible for his physical welfare, I gave him a reassuring smile. "Your healer tells me that he's put the shoulder back into place and you've still got some lingering pain. It's my job to help you regain the range of motion that you had before you had your accident."

He simply nodded in answer, a small smile lingering at the corner of his mouth. This time, as he continued to watch me, there wasn't a single hint of any anger, any hurt in his gaze.

"What?" I couldn't help but ask.

"You just seem different," he explained eventually, giving me an assessing gaze when I shuffled uncertainly on my chair. "It's not a bad thing, Lamb."

"Right," I managed, still sounding uncertain. Rising to my feet, I towered over Oliver who watched as I rounded the desk to approach him, "Let's get a look at your shoulder, then."

Despite experiencing some awkwardness with my first session with Oliver, the subsequent sessions weren't so bad. He had quickly learned that I tended to clam up whenever he brought up our times at Hogwarts and he had also discovered – through someone else – that I was in the process of distancing myself from the Wizarding world. The look on his face had told me all I needed to know about what he thought about that. Still, he didn't bring it up to me even though I knew that the curiosity was eating him alive from the inside out. Well, this was just something that I wasn't going to share with him.

Oliver, seated on the treatment table, watched in silence as I checked how far he could move his arm and shoulder without experiencing strain. His hand was holding my own as I moved his arm gently in one direction and then in the other, all whilst keeping a close look at his face, for even the slightest indication of strain.

With a sigh, I set his hand gently back on his lap and drew away from him. He instantly looked towards me, hurriedly adding, "I can move it further, Lamb."

"You shouldn't force it Wood," I reminded him for what must have been the tenth time since he had started receiving treatment from me. He continued to look at me and I sighed again, crossing my arms as I insisted, "If you keep forcing it then you'll make the injury worse – instead of making it better."

"But I can get it to go further," he insisted, sounding exactly like that stubborn fifth year that had almost gotten into a fight with me when I'd insisted on taking him to the Hospital Wing after a particularly horrendous fall.

"Wood," I said finally, using the tone that always made him shut up. It worked; making him sigh and look to his shoes as I continued, "If you don't listen to me and continue to insist on forcing the injury then it will definitely get worse and you'll end up missing the beginning of the season. Maybe even the entire session. And , I can tell from the continual letters your manager keeps sending me, will be disastrous for not just the team but for your career. Just listen to what I have to say."

It appeared that making him aware of the chance that his team would lose the season was a very real possibility, did the trick. He eventually nodded just once and it was all the agreement I needed.

Still, I insisted, "If I moved it any more, you would have been in horrendous pain, wouldn't you?"

He nodded again, looking very much like a scolded first year. Deciding that he'd had enough of a telling off, I motioned for him to hop off from the table as I returned to my desk to grab the information sheet of the new set of exercises that I wanted him to carry out each day until our next appointment.

I did a final scan of the sheet to make sure that I had the right one before holding it out for him. "I'll see you again at the same time next week to check your progress then, Wood."

He took the piece of paper from me without a word, and I watched as his eyes skimmed over the list of exercises. He catalogued each move, studying them in a way that made me want to point out that this was the most serious that I had seen him study anything that didn't have to do with Quidditch. But I didn't say that.

Instead, I reached out for the next patient file to give it another read before the next patient entered to receive their treatment; he would see himself out.

Only he didn't. Oliver remained lingering by my desk, eyes boring into me with so much intensity that I looked curiously towards him. "Wood?"

"Are you really going to treat me as just another patient?" he asked so abruptly that I stalled for a moment.

Forcing my eyes to meet his, I did my very best to appear aloof, professional, to make sure he knew that I saw him as nothing more than another patient. I couldn't see him as anything more than a patient. "Why not You are my patient."

"You know I didn't mean it like that," he insisted, folding the paper in half and holding it between his fingers. "For such a smart woman, playing dumb really doesn't suit you."

"Right now, you are my patient," I insisted firmly, not letting myself be cowed under his gaze. This wasn't like all the other times he'd brought up Hogwarts; I wasn't going to go quiet and let him think whatever he wanted to. "Right now, you're nothing more to me than a patient."

He scoffed out a laugh, incredulous and harsh against my skin. "For some reason, those words hurt more than my shoulder does."

"Oliver," I frowned, not wanting to hurt him. But he was already walking away.

The very next time that Oliver came in for his treatment, there was absolutely no mention of what had been … discussed towards the end of our session. Rather, there hadn't been much talk about anything. We had simply set about getting through everything that I needed to check through and even though I had spent the entire week hoping that he wouldn't say anything, it was worse. Having him not speak about what had happened during his last session simply made it feel like there was something lingering, undiscussed between us. Like an elephant in the room.

But still, I certainly didn't have the courage to bring it up to him in the first place. I needed to say something, though.

After checking, once again, how far Oliver could manage to move his arm without experiencing any pain, I placed his hand gently back onto his lap. "You can go much further now."

Oliver, quite clearly not expecting me to have spoken, glanced curiously towards me. Still, I cleared my throat as I spoke to fill the silence.

"It's surprising just how quickly you're improving." Retreating back a few steps, I offered a small smile, "I'm confident you'll return to normal pretty soon."

"I've been practising," he simply said, offering me another smile.

He hopped off of the table without needing to be told to do so. As I turned to walk back towards my desk, I was hyper-aware of the way he continued to watch me. He really was waiting for me to bring it up first.

"I guess the threat of you potentially not being able to play this season was powerful enough to get you to agree," I murmured quietly, finding his patient's log and preparing to hand write my notes. It really would have been much quicker with a computer but apparently, the residual magic that lived under my skin didn't like computers very much.

"I guess," Oliver agreed quietly.

Removing the lid from my pen, I watched Oliver cautiously as he eased himself into his chair again. This really was one of the most stifling physiotherapy sessions that I'd ever had to administer to someone. Settling down comfortably, Oliver simply looked around the office as if he hadn't already spent almost twenty hours in this office and hadn't already made a mental model of this entire office in his mind. I watched him for a moment longer and managed to look back towards his patient file just before his eyes were on me.

Under the weight of his eyes, I continued to steadily make note of everything that had happened during the session and noted all the changes I'd seen in him. Signing the last of my observations, I set the folder aside and started to write a note to the team healer; he would be able to begin practising soon.

"Make sure you give this to the team healer when you head into the next session," I said finally, folding the paper in half and holding it out towards him. "And don't even deny that you attend the sessions; I know you go in to watch over the training session."

He simply nodded, folding the note in half again and pocketing it. I glanced expectantly towards him, waiting for him to eventually rise to his feet and to leave my office; wasn't he feeling the awkwardness that lingered in the air?

When he still didn't stand, I announced, "You'll be happy to know that you can start practising soon. Of course, start with little things first. You won't be able to begin attending entire practices yet."

"That's good," he finally echoed, sounding not even half as pleased as I would have expected of him too. He shifted slightly in his seat, looking like he was finally, finally going to stand up but he didn't. Oliver simply shuffled towards the edge of his chair so he could get a better look at me, "Why did you kiss me? Why did you kiss me and then just disappear?"

There was no doubt in my mind what he was talking about. But still, I evaded his eyes for a moment as I thought of something to say, "Oliver, I –"

"I woke up in that Hospital Wing and no one could tell me where you were. No one saw you!" He swallowed thickly as if he couldn't bring himself to think about it for a moment longer. Oliver released a shaky breath before asking again, "Why did you kiss me in the middle of the battle? During the respite?"

"Either one of us could have died during that war," I finally said, allowing myself for one moment to recall how utterly terrifying that single day had been, "If I didn't do it then, I never would have. I thought that one of us would have died, that's why I did it."

"I did," he struggled for a moment. "I did think you died. You disappeared without a trace and no one knew where you were. I scoured each and every damned list of the dead to see if your name was on there."

The way his voice wobbled slightly had me averting my eyes; I couldn't. I couldn't think of it any longer.

"Would it have been that hard to just leave a note," he finally managed, after I raised my eyes to his.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, hating the way I couldn't speak any louder. "I didn't think that far ahead."

"Godric, it felt like you'd ripped my heart out of my chest."

What else was there to say but, "Sorry."

Oliver sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He took another moment to gather himself before asking pointedly, "Are you going to disappear on me again? Now that I'm better, are you going to disappear and leave me all alone?"

Silence.

Because I couldn't give him a real answer, all I could do was to hold his eyes as he came to that understanding himself. It did absolutely nothing to stop the way my heart fell into my stomach.

Returning home after I had spent an entire day tending to and speaking to other people was … lonely. To go from an office where people were almost always bustling in and out and then returning to an apartment where only I remained with no one else to talk to as extremely isolating. I had tried, at first to make friends with the muggles – to some success. But I'd discovered that when we got to talking about our times at school, that I hadn't had much to share. There certainly wasn't anything that I could share without finding the Ministry breathing down my neck and ready to shove me into one of the cells in Azkaban.

I'd contemplated getting a cat but really, after seeing the way that my dormmates cats had reacted to me during my time at Hogwarts, I didn't think cats liked me on principle. No, they instead saw me as some sort of scratching pole for them to sharpen their claws on.

Switching the lights on as I went further into my apartment, I went through the usual routine of having a light dinner and then popping into the shower. Drying myself off and changing into my pyjamas and brushing my teeth as I walked around the apartment making sure that all of the windows were closed, I found myself lingering for the first time in months in front of a trunk that I'd shoved into the corner of my bedroom. Rinsing my mouth clean, I hesitated to approach the trunk. It was a bad idea, but I did it anyway.

Crossing the room, I knelt before the trunk that had always rested at the foot of my bed during all seven years at Hogwarts and undid the lock. Pushing the lid open, I stared down into it and struggled against the wave of nostalgia that swept through me.

Reaching in with steady hands, I drew out my Hogwarts robe and Hufflepuff tie and set it aside. Slowly removing each of the textbooks that I had accumulated over the course of my seven years at school, I glanced slowly over the keepsakes that all of my friends from the Wizarding world had given me and drew out the photo album and held it between steady hands. Setting that aside also, my eyes lingered on the object that I had settled at the very bottom of the trunk; my wand.

My fingers reached out for it almost instantly, holding it lightly between a closed fist and wondered at the warmth that travelled through me; my magic had found its partner. I released a shaking breath, dropping the wand and letting it roll back out of my hand. It fell against the bottom of the trunk with a dull thud. Hurriedly replacing everything in the trunk save for the photo album, I shut it quickly and rose to my feet. Picking up the photo album, I cradled it between my arms and retreated back to my bed.

Clambering onto the bed and drawing my covers tight around me, I adjusted my pillows. Settling back against the headboard, I opened the photo album and took a foolish trip down memory lane. The pictures that started the book, pictures my parents had taken with their muggle camera as they saw me off at the train station were frozen still. And slowly, as my time at Hogwarts progressed, the pictures had started to move. The wonders of a magical camera. Despite the ache of loneliness in my chest, I looked down at each picture with a fond smile; it was through some of these pictures alone that I could see the faces of some long-departed friends once again.

Turning to the final page of the book, my eyes lingered on the final picture, one of my parents had taken at my graduation. This picture, much like the one at the beginning, didn't move and my eyes lingered on each of the faces in the background. And right there in the corner was the faintest image of Oliver who was busy taking pictures with his own family.

We had gone through much of our time at Hogwarts joined to one another at the hip and yet, yet I had only seen him once more after the graduation. And that had been during the damned battle –

The battle where I had lost so many of my loved ones, loved ones that had their lives ended far, far too soon. It was only pure luck chance that I had ran into Oliver when I did, during the battle and even then, I hadn't been able to stop the way my eyes roved across him.

"Helga, I should have taken you up on that offer to come and watch your training," I rushed out, smiling incredulously up at Oliver when his hands caught my arms, stabilising me as I recoiled from colliding with him. "Who would have thought this is the first time I saw you again after leaving school?"

"You're telling me," he said with a disbelieving laugh that really had no place in this battle. His grip on my arm softened as he straightened out my jumper. Oliver's hands hesitated for a moment, flickering up towards my face before he held me with a hand over either cheek. Thumbs rubbing softly back and forth, he asked, "Are you ok? You're not hurt anywhere?"

"No," I managed quietly, taken aback by the weight of his stare, "Are you?"

"No, no, I'm fine," he assured, giving me a gentle smile.

"Thank Merlin," I managed and when Oliver when to remove his hands from my face, I caught his hands. Cradling them against me, my eyes collided with his; there really was no other time for it. Reaching out to grasp him at the back of his neck, I closed the space between us and kissed him, without a single care for who was stopping to catch up.

Oliver paid no mind either, hauling me against him and deepening the kiss until we had to pass. We lingered beside one another, basking in the safe space between the pair of us for just a moment longer.

"I'll see you later," he promised and I could only manage a watery nod in return.

Slamming the cover of the photo album shut, I set it aside with a sigh. Dropping my head, I let out a shaky breath before settling in for the night. Closing my eyes, I tried not to listen to the thought that was screaming at me from the back of my mind.

It had been selfish to leave.

But it was too late to do anything about it now.

Once Oliver had been given the all clear, his treatments were all finished and I saw neither hair nor hide of him again. As it was supposed to be. I had done my job of helping him recover and, from the note that I had received from the Puddlemere United's team Healer, Oliver was attending all of their training sessions and taking part as if he had never been injured in the first place. He was set to take to the field for their first game – one that was supposed to have happened today – and I was sure that nothing was going to stop Oliver from helping his team achieve their first victory of the season.

I, on the other hand, was busy preparing to close the office down for the day. The receptionist had already left for the day, apologising that he had plans that he needed to keep to and I didn't mind. Instead, I was busy filing away the last of my patient's notes and making sure that I had tended to everything that needed to be done. Locking away the patient's files in the drawer, I made sure key was in a safe place.

Picking up my coat and slinging it over my arm, I gathered my bag and prepared to head out for the day. Approaching the door to my office and opening it, I faltered in my step when I found myself standing face to face with Oliver whose hand was raised as if to knock.

"What – what are you doing here?" I couldn't help but step aside to let him in.

He didn't enter right away. Instead, he hesitated and asked quietly, "Can you fit one more patient in? Or are you heading home for the day?"

"I'm heading home," I admitted, gesturing to my coat and bag. "But – I, I can fit another patient in."

Leaving the door open, I walked further into my office and left him to follow after me. Setting my bag down on my desk and chucking my coat over the back of my chair, I looked towards Oliver again as he finally shut the door behind him.

"I thought you were supposed to be all better now?" I hesitated, watching as he took measured steps towards me, "The Healers at St. Mungo's and even the team healer said that everything was alright now?"

"There's a tightness in my shoulders," he admitted, giving his shoulders an experimental roll as if to prove his point. "Do you mind checking up on it?"

"Yeah – yeah of course."

Averting my gaze hurriedly, I washed my hands at the sink, staring at the bubbles as they washed down the drain; all I could see was that man lying, eyes closed, on the hospital bed. Shaking my hands dry and steeling myself, I turned back towards him and found that he was already shrugging out of the outer parts of his uniform, the uniform I hadn't known he was still wearing – and leaving him in his tighter inner shirt. He didn't need to be told to lie hop onto the treatment table.

Approaching the table, I didn't look at him as I set about moving his shoulder experimentally, to see what was wrong with it. I certainly couldn't see where this tightness he was speaking of, came from.

"I read up on the game," I said quietly, making small talk. I didn't want to tell him too much – certainly not that I'd swung by a wizarding part of town for the first time just to hear how he'd played. "Apparently it was a good one. People could believe that you'd been injured in the first place."

"You can't really know about a quidditch game through the papers," he complained, scowling at me when I released my hold on his arm. "If you really want to know about a game then you need to come and watch one."

"Maybe," I said after a moment's thought. Attending a game meant entering the Wizarding world again and – "I can't find anything wrong with your shoulder, Oliver. So, tell me the real reason you came here."

He refused to answer at first. Instead, he met my eyes and just watched me.

"You came to see me?" I guessed eventually, and it was a correct one apparently, given the red flush that had begun to tinge the shell of his ear. "Why?"

"Why can't we move forward?" he asked instead of answering my question. He shifted on the table, turning to face me as I was once again, rendered speechless by something he had said. "We could easily forget all the time you spent away from the Wizarding world, work through it all together and just move forward." His hand hesitantly reached out towards me, waiting for me to take it. "Together, Lamb."

"I can't date clients," I said firmly, hiding behind the excuse.

"You know that I don't need to see you anymore," he pointed out, hand still outstretched towards me.

"I'm aware," I said, rolling my eyes but still taking a slow pace towards him. Stepping into his outstretched hand, I held his eyes as he cupped my cheek, smiling softly.

"Really," he began again, speaking softly, "why won't you just let us move forward?"

"Because you never asked," I managed slowly. "You never asked and you just threw a strop instead,"

He drew away with a scowl, "I didn't throw a strop." With another sigh, he reached out for me once again, hands settling on my waist and holding me as if he wasn't going to let me go, "Besides if you ask me, I'm entitled to throwing a strop."