So Many Secrets.

Shitty Therapy, Shitty Feels

"So, Harry, I've found a few therapists in the London area. They specialize in teens and adolescents, children who've been abused. I figured you could look through the options, and we'd do what they call 'test runs'."

"What's that?"

"You go for a session to meet them, get to know them a bit and vice-versa-"

"Hi, I never went to school before this. Dunno know what that means."

"They'll get to know you, too," he continues, "and then a session after that, showing you what a real session would look and feel like." I'm given a list of five people. Three women and two men.  

"Do I have to see all of these people?" And suddenly, I'm not so sure I should've said yes to help. 

"No, of course not. You can start by choosing two, we'll try both, and if neither work, we can try others."

"What if I want to stop?"

"...No," he says finally. "Honestly, I should've gotten you a therapist a long time ago. That is my fault."

"So you're going to force me after forgetting about it?"

"Yes, I am."

I look over the five names and choose on Tim Small to see first. He's twenty five, which seems really young for some reason. And if he sucks, Rebecka Smith. 

"I'll set up an appointment with Mr. Small, then. You may go now, if you wish."

"Sir, when... When is my uncle being... whatever?" I ask instead.

"We aren't quite sure yet, but when I find out, I'll let you know. Go on, now, I've got grading to do and it's nearly time for bed." He gestures at the door. "I'll assume you've finished all of your school work?"

"So far, yeah." For some reason, I'm not leaving. "Sir?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What will it be like? Therapy? Will they lock me in a hospital if they find out about what... what I do...? That's what always happened on the telly to people who're mental."

"You aren't mad, Harry, you're mildly depressed and anxious and you probably have PTSD. They aren't going to lock you in a mental hospital unless you try to commit suicide," he says. "You are not going to be sent away or forgotten or whatever else is going through that head of yours. You're just getting a little more help.

"Therapy is not a punishment. Understand? I won't let you stop, but if a therapist does not work, I will let you stop seeing them. Got it?"

"Yeah..."

He practically forces me out of the office after that. Which is fine. I am tired. 

"Harry! You're practically late!" Draco says. "Remember when Theo was late and Snape gave him detention for two days!?"

"Oh, shut up! He literally made me study the importance of sleep!"

I'm already in pajamas, I'd just changed before Severus called me down, so I can climb right into bed. After the lights are out, the curtains open and Draco sits at the foot of my bed. 

"Hello, person."

"Hi. You're so weird."

"Thank you, yes, that is me. So, would you absolutely hate it if I slept here for the night?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, lately I've been having this lovely dream that you and I are in a pit of flames and I can't find you and all I can hear is you screaming for me to find you and I can't."