Written by Frayach on ao3
It's a Mind Healer's worse nightmare to lose a patient to suicide, but Mind Healer Nick Nichols can attest to the fact that it can be even worse. If only Dr. Freud had come up with a sure cure for love.
• • •
"𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕧𝕖 �...
When I get to my office around ten, there's no sign of Draco except for a note that simply reads: "Thanks." I put it in my desk and start writing up my notes from last night. I'm just about finished when an imperious looking owl scratches at my window. I let it in, and it flies off again without the treat I offer it.
"Well, screw you too," I say under my breath and unroll the parchment it left me.
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I stare at the note, my mind completely blank. The first thing that occurs to me is that someone other than Draco had written it, and his family was going to "lock him away" for awhile, but when I wave my wand over the parchment, it is clear the handwriting is Draco's.
What the fuck?
None of it makes sense. Last night, he'd sworn he was going to keep fighting for Harry, but now it looks like he's running away again. Did he send a similar note to Harry, or did he plan to leave without even telling him he's going?
My mind is spinning as I try to think of options. Perhaps I could go to the Manor and try to ascertain whether this is voluntary on Draco's part and, if it is, whether he'd considered all the consequences. But there is no way I could go to his house and demand explanations. It would be an unforgivable breach of trust.
I could write to him and try to make my case on paper. He needs to be in therapy! I'm the only person in the world who knows how dangerous this whole situation is . . . .
Or am I?
• • •
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement's floor is chaotic to say the least. Memos are flying around like a flock of sparrows, and people are charging here and there. I'm nearly hit by three of them by the time I reach the head secretary's desk.
"Can I help you?" she asks without looking up from the paperwork on her desk.
"I'd like to see Harry Potter," I say.
She snorts but still doesn't look up. "Good luck with that."
I frown. Is she being funny or is that going to be her only response? I decide to keep standing right where I am. At last she looks up with an exasperated look on her face.
"Harry Potter, I need to see him."
"You can't be serious."
My frown deepens. "Well, yes, I am. Is there a problem?"
"Auror Potter doesn't talk to reporters. Don't even bother trying to bribe me."
I laugh. "No, no, you misunderstand. I'm not a reporter, I'm a Healer."
She glares at my notebook. It's clear she doesn't believe me.
"I'll try to get him, but I swear to Circe, if you're fucking with me, I will have your press pass as quick as a flea farts."
