On The Couch | DRARRY

Chapter 7

My mentor shakes her head causing her long earrings to jingle. She draws her wand and pours me another cup of tea.

"Do you think your patient may be suicidal? Or is this a cry for help to you - the only person, other than his lover, who seems to know him?"

I take a sip of tea and then sit for a while gazing into my cup.

"I don't think he's suicidal. When he says he can't live without his lover, I think it's no more than rhetoric. I don't take it literally."

"Well, maybe you should." She sits down in the chair across from mine, and her Kneazle jumps into her lap, purring loudly and rubbing his head under her chin. "Now, now, Rufus," she says. "I'm going to have a cup of tea and a conversation that - God forbid - doesn't include you." She picks Rufus up and puts him on the rug. "But you've made a note of it."

"Of course. My most immediate concern is that he seems not to be sleeping - at least not without the aid of sleeping potions, which I'm very concerned he could become addicted to."

"Have you managed to get him on the couch yet?"

I laugh ruefully. "He says my couch smells like a tannery."

"Then get a different one."

I look at her expecting to see one of her contagious smiles, but what I see is absolute seriousness and concern.

"He's calling the shots, Nick," she says, setting down her teacup. "You can't let him dictate his own healing process."

"Maybe I'm not the right Healer for him . . ."

"Nonsense. It sounds quite the opposite. You've got him to open up more than anyone else it seems."

"He's rather intimidating."

"It sounds like bullying people has served him well."

I sigh and scratch Rufus behind the ear. "I imagine he hasn't made himself many friends over the years."

"No, but I imagine he's made a lot of enemies who would probably be more than happy to see him humiliated."

"Why me? Why do you think he's let me in?"

"Clearly he trusts you on some level, but, Nick, you really do have to get him onto the couch. Maybe it's time to turn the tables and bully him."

I frown. "That doesn't seem like a tactic I should be taking with any of my patients . . ."

My mentor is suddenly very serious and formidable - just as she'd been during my apprenticeship.

"Perhaps you don't think of this as a house on fire. Different patients require different approaches. You should know that by now. This patient sounds on the verge of being desperate, and you never know what a desperate man might do."

• • •

The pub is crowded for a Thursday night, and I'm having difficulty hearing my colleagues, although I can bet they're grousing about their patients. We're always grousing about our patients.

"Dear God, you should have been there! He quite literally pulled down his trousers and crapped on my carpet. The new one, too! The one I got on my trip to Turkey!"

We all laugh. Gus always has the best stories of all of us. He takes more pro bono cases than the rest of us, which means many of his patients are truly patently insane. His independent wealth gives him the luxury of public service. The rest of us would starve if we took patients for free.

"You think that's bad?" asks Stella. "One of my patients stripped naked and went shrieking out the door and into the street. I had to call the Aurors."

I'm feeling pleasantly tipsy. I only have three patients tomorrow, and one of my patients today said he was doing well enough to end therapy. Nothing makes me happier than hearing that I've managed to heal someone.