J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter.

"What makes you happy?" the man asks me.

"Studying," I answer immediately. "Reading. Working."

He gives me an odd look.

I gave him the wrong answer, didn't I?

But it's the truth.

"Okay... What do you do for fun outside of work?"

"I, er... Well, I... I like to read?" I offer up, grimacing.

"Other than that," the man says.

I remain quiet.

The questions just keep coming, though.

"What's your favorite store?"

"Flourish and Blotts," I say quickly. "I mean, er-"

"Favorite food?"

"Spaghetti!" I blurt out.

I hate spaghetti.

"Hermione..." the man says with a sigh. "Can you even see it?"

"See what?"

I honestly can't believe that I'm even here, to be honest.

How did I end up in a therapist's office?

I'm a perfectly faithful ministry employee.

I have friends.

I have enemies.

There is nothing wrong with me!

"Have you ever considered yourself a bit of a workaholic?"

"No, because I love my work," I say strongly. "It's what I live for."

"Do you have a non-platonic relationship with anyone?"

"No," I say meekly.

"Have you ever?"

"Yes, of course. Kind of."

"And how did those "kind-of"s end, exactly?"

"I kind of got... I was too, well, busy to maintain anything long-term."

"Are you always busy?"

"No. I mean, I take breaks."

"Reading does not count in this case."

"Why not?" I ask the therapist, affronted. "I love to read!"

"Do you ever feel like you've created a fantasy world for yourself in books so that you won't have to deal with actual problems in the real world?"

He gives me a serious type of look.

"No!" I say immediately.

He continues to stare.

"Well, maybe a little. But hardly at all!" I add.

"Hermione," he says my name again. "When was your last vacation?"

"Last summer."

"No, Hermione. I have your files from work. That was three years ago."

Three years?

That can't be.

They mixed up my files with someone else's.

"May I?" I gesture to the folders the therapist is holding.

"You aren't authorized to-"

"Please?" I say. "I mean, I just can't believe this."

I sigh and look up at the ceiling.

"Hermione, it's okay. It's an automatic thing for employees as good and hard-working as you to get sent to me. I'm just here to make sure it's not because you're neglecting other parts of your life for work. People need a healthy balance."

"So I'm free to go now?"

I'm half-up from my seat already.

"Not quite," the man says. "You see..."

No, no, please, no.

"What is it?" I ask him.

"You've tested high in certain disorders, especially for being a bit of a- to use simple terms- a workaholic."

"I am not," I say immediately, standing up. "I just love my work. You can't stop me from working and doing what I want to do!

No one can."

"Hermione!" he calls after me, but I'm already out the door.

Only to run smack into Draco Malfoy.

"What are you doing down here?" he asks in his work voice: pleasant, placid, and totally BS-ing.

"I could ask the same of you," I reply with a fake smile.

Malfoy glances at the swung-open door behind me.

"You weren't... I mean, we always kind of knew," he says.

"Knew what?" I demand.

"That you're crazy about work. It's all you do, and now it's gotten you on floor eight: therapy."

"That's a lie!"

Of course, it's right then that that idiot therapist has to call my name again.

Malfoy gives me the same look I was getting before.

"Go away," I say.

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I've been thrown down here, too. And there's one thing that's stopping you from leaving," Malfoy says seriously.

"What's that?" I ask irritably.

"You can't. Not until you're fixed."

"Fixed?" I echo, panicking. "What is 'fixed'?"

"First, they find out what your problem is.

Then, they fix it, by whatever means possible."

"What?" I say, eyes wide.

"It's all for the good of the company, Granger. Can't have those crazy people walking around and disrupting the order. Otherwise, you might end up like him."

And we all know who "him" is.

Voldemort.

"Well, as lovely as this chat was, it has to end now. So I suggest that you get back in that office before you get hurt."

Malfoy looks like he's serious.

And like he's not the one who would hurt me.

Oh, shit.

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