"Shit," he groaned, as he tried to calm down.
It took several minutes of the deep breathing exercises Joel had taught to bring his emotions under some control. He couldn't go back to sleep. Damn memories. Damn emotions. He wanted to go back to the hospital, but he had given Draco the extended-release Dreamless Potion. He'd be out for twelve hours, but it couldn't be taken more than once a week. Nothing's that easy. Harry had almost got addicted to it, but thankfully it was regulated, and they potion-tested new healers very irregularly for illicit potions when he was going through training. So, he stopped taking everything.
While intended for intruders, Ron's wards also meant that he couldn't leave either. Ron wasn't stupid, and Harry was sure that all dangerous things were tucked away (from him and the children) and the Anti-Apparation wards were up. Harry stayed awake and just stared at the ceiling and blurry shadows. Ron or Hermione must have taken off his glasses. He could hear Ron's snoring down the hall, and the wind was just strong enough to rustle leaves outside. Harry shivered as it whistled in through the cracks, but he tried to focus on the sounds and not think about what had happened.
Draco wanted him to process it, but Harry didn't want to. The memories bleed through anyway... that room... the straps... the potion... Wortchuck reaching for him... Higgs touching him... the anxiety... and feeling so raw and vulnerable when Ron rescued him. Bloody hell. He wanted someone, something to focus on. Draco was right about not being alone. Whiskey had helped him get by when the dark thoughts came, but he didn't even have that right now.
It had been nearly three days since he drank anything. He could feel the shakes... the withdrawal kicking in. He was a healer. He couldn't ignore the signs, nor the guilt, that he, a healer, was an addict. It had been easy to say "I need to drink so I can sleep". But Harry was always ashamed that he was so weak that he couldn't get through the night without his bottle. He knew, without a doubt, that he would have gone home and gotten blind drunk if Draco had not said anything.
He really needed to stop drinking. Process it, as Draco put it. Not use alcohol to anesthetize his normal brain functions. He had never really let what happened five years ago... sink in. He let some tears fall as he didn't want to think about that either. It was all too much. Higgs was nothing compared to those nightmares. It's what Higgs had been triggering. What was buried deep, as deep as he could make it. Those three days where that... guy had ripped him apart and taken everything that was him out. He berated himself for thinking about it.
Screech!
Harry's eyes jerked open wide when he heard a door creak open down the hall. Ron was still snoring, so it wasn't him. Harry tried to squint into the darkness without his glasses, but it was hard to see. When he heard the little footsteps, he knew it was either Rose or Hugo. He let out a breath of relief, as the putter-pats came closer.
"Unca 'Arry?" Hugo whispered, reaching out to put his hand on his leg.
"Hey, little man?" he said quietly.
"Why're-you on the... couch?" he mumbled, his eyes drooping with sleepiness.
"Your mum and pop invited me over. You should be in bed, Hugo."
Hugo didn't say anything, but he yawned and pulled at the blanket. Harry lifted it for him, and Hugo climbed onto his chest and curled up on top of him, his head nearly touching his chin. Harry covered him back up. Hermione mentioned that Hugo was in the "sneak-into-mum-and-dad's-bed" stage.
"Unca 'Arry?" Hugo's sleepy voice whispered, again. 
"What's up, Hu?" he said, kissing the top of his head.
"I don' wanna-ya to be sad."
Harry felt that. Rose must have told him that. It was the simplest way to explain to the toddler what was wrong with him. "I... tryin' little man."