"It feels like right waste" Said Ron over firewhiskey,

Hermione admonished him most of the time when he talked about how the money and time went into taking care of young Harry could be better spent, but she really couldn't summon the outrage or disbelief today.

They had started the first year of his wizarding education today, he'd been in their care of years but they hadn't really talked much to him until now.

In fact they had mostly just talked to each other around him, wondering if he could ever even hear them trapped in his head as he was.

But according to their contract he was to receive a full classical education, coma or no coma. Several hours dedicated to teaching the boy about magic when until now they had probably never even mentioned the word magic to him.

The Potter estate had more than enough money to provide them dual salaries for teaching and live-in patient care in private quarters.

And while being assigned solely to him at the insistence of Mr Black,the executor of the Potter estate, Ron and Hermione had both felt that their efforts were somewhat wasted when the rest of the hospital was chronically understaffed.

Mr Dursely frequently requested that they come and help with other patients, so despite their contract they frequently left harry unattended for hours. While he was well taken care of they were mostly absent, leaving him alone in that lonely room. But for the duration of his "education" they would actually spend their entire days in here keeping him company.

It always felt bad to Hermione, but as far as their best testing could indicate the boy didn't even know that they were there.

They had nicknamed him the boy who lived after the dark lord had fallen while dueling the Potters. "He who must not be named" had injured the boy a devastating amount when his final death throes killed both of his parents.

Over time the name had become more and more bitter.

The boy who lived.

Because living was all he would ever do.