From Wiltshire, With Love

Epilogue: Part 1

Author's Note: 

A word of caution. This story has two epilogues.

You can read this first epilogue and be happy with the completion of the fic. I've noticed that my second epilogue is polarizing. Some love it, some hate it. It's a huge inside joke and I took a bunch of prompts and request from my readers when I posted this as a WIP. It's essentially the ensemble cast coming out for a bow. It hits all the emotional beats and complexities of a post-war society still struggling with bigotry and trying to heal - but if you're not a fan of the 90's pop culture references I've been dropping throughout, it may not work for you. So keep that in mind.

You've made it this far, congrats!

October/November 1998

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Department of Mind Healing

Tonks motioned to the office entrance.

"After you."

Draco eyed the beige door in front of him. The Mind Healer's name and credentials were carved on a brass plate attached at eye level. He placed his hand on the doorknob but couldn't make himself turn it. At his hesitancy, Tonks continued, "For obvious reasons, I haven't been able to see her this year when I would have needed her the most. But she helped me quite a lot when I was first sent into the field. She understands."

Draco's mouth went dry and his hand started to tremble. He knew he had to open the door. He knew he wouldn't get better if he didn't start seeing someone regularly. But the Mind Healer was a complete stranger. He could barely talk about the depths of his guilt and self-loathing with Hermione and Tonks.

"No judgement," Tonks whispered and laid a hand on his wrist, stilling his movements. "I promise."

Her gentle, encouraging touch gave him strength. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Draco pushed the door open to reveal an old woman with white hair in a bun, sitting at a desk. She was short with thick glasses perched on the edge of her nose, and reminded Draco of the museum docent at the National Gallery.

"Hello, Draco. And welcome." Unlike the museum docent's authoritative voice, hers was kinder and more patient. "Nymphadora has given me a brief explanation of what we may be dealing with. Have a seat."

She motioned to the chairs in front of her desk and they both sat down. "Thank you."

"You prefer to have Nymphadora sit with you? At least in the beginning?"

He eyed his cousin, who sent him a smile of encouragement, and he nodded wordlessly.

"So," she placed a parchment and quill on the desk in front of her. "How are you feeling today?"

It was a simple enough question, but his chest tightened and his throat closed around tears he didn't want to shed. 'Fine' was the expected answer. That's what people usually wanted to hear when they asked. Troubles were supposed to be easily solved with a hug, warm meal and a good night's sleep.

Despite the overwhelming compulsion making him want to crawl out of his skin, he didn't Occlude. Tonks told Draco he must immediately stop using Occlumency as a coping mechanism, so he forced an easy smile and replied, "I'm alright."

He didn't know this woman, and didn't trust her. Old habits die hard.

The Mind Healer tilted her head and, uneasily, he watched a Quick Quotes Quill make some notes on the parchment. She didn't buy it. Even he heard the shakiness in his voice, but she didn't press him, and Tonks said nothing.

After the scratching on the parchment stopped, the Mind Healer gave him a warm smile and asked, "I assume Nymphadora already discussed with you what treatment usually entails?"