Step One Admitting You Have a Problem

by the punchline

“Well Mr. Malfoy,” she says. “It has been a while. To what do I owe this pleasure?” “Er – yes,” I reply dumbly. “Um, well… There is something WRONG with me.” - Previous pen name: krazie-livin

AUTHOR NOTE:

I know I have a story going at the moment, which I haven't updated in like, 2 months, but IM SO DAMN BUSY. It's ridiculous. And this – plus the last oneshot I posted – has been swirling around in my head for the best part of the last 3 months, and I just had to get it out. So once I've posted the next and last chap to this fic (which I suspect will be real short) I promise I will start on the next chapter to my other story (Tortured Confessions of a Victim of James Potter). I'm sorry to everyone waiting for updates on that one, I swear I don't usually take this long. I'm usually a weekly updater. *sigh* the world is just not the same as it once was. Well anyway, thanks for taking your time to read this, hopefully you enjoy it. Oh, and I promise there'll be more dramione action next chapter. This chapter's more about the humour.

OH. And this was inspired by the song 'Dr. Suzanne Mattox PHD' by The Wombats.

Disclaimer: you know what isn't mine.

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Step 1: Admitting You Have a Problem

She stares at me rather strangely.

It's probably because I've just answered her vigorous and uncomfortably long insult of "I HOPE YOU GO BOLD AND EAT AWAY YOUR RESULTING DEPRESSION UNTIL YOU CAN'T RIDE A BROOM WITHOUT IT DROPPING SEVERAL FEET EVERY TIME YOU SHIFT YOUR COLOSSOL WEIGHT! PEOPLE WILL SEE YOUR PATHETIC ATTEMPTS AT FLYING – ALONG WITH YOUR PASTY SKIN TONE – AND YELL WARNING ABOUT GRAVITY FAILING US AND THE MOON CRASHING TO THE EARTH!" with, "I have to go."

Smooth, I know.

She blinks at me slowly, her chest heaving from the effort of producing such a large number of words at such a fast pace, and I get the sense she hasn't quite comprehended what I've said.

Silence. And then, "Oh." Her voice wavers as she tries to catch her breath. The flush I've caused to crowd angrily in her cheeks fades as she stares at me dumbly.

"Oh," she repeats again, this time tilting her head and shrugging nonchalantly. "Ok."

I nod, avoiding her gaze. "Goodbye," I say, stiffly handing over the mug we'd been fighting over. And before you start getting all judgmental, let me say that it really is the best mug that sits on the coffee mug shelf. Only a few weeks old, not a stain in sight and sporting the most adorable hand-painted picture of a kneazle and her kittens, it was no surprise I'd noticed it from the other side of the Ministry Lunch Room. Of course, by the time I did notice it, she was holding it in her hands. When I told her that I would appreciate it if she gave it to me, she looked incredibly affronted (a bit over the top, if you ask me) and snapped something about bringing it personally from her home, also having paid for it, and that it was very much hers. Selfish, much?

Anyway, the argument escalated and, well… here we are. Something has happened, and I must leave.

She accepts the mug from me in the same tense and awkward manner I offer it to her with. It's obvious she has been thrown off by my sudden use in formalities such as polite farewells as opposed to "Give my regards to your mother, Granger – Satan, was it?"

She says nothing more, suddenly finding the porcelain in her hands shockingly interesting, and I nod again (for no real reason) before shoving my hands in my trouser pockets and strolling swiftly out the doors. As soon as I enter the hallway I break into a full blown sprint. I haven't got enough patience to go back to my office for my brief case so I thunder right into a conveniently open lift, almost colliding with the back wall.

There is a middle aged woman in the corner of the lift. She stares at me in shock before averting her gaze to instead stare fearfully at the lift doors as they sail smoothly shut. Her expression suggests she may very well not make it out of this thirty second journey alive with a lunatic (i.e. me) accompanying her.

The lift shudders as it begins its ascent and its growling drowns out the jingly elevator music almost entirely.

Trying to lighten the mood, I shoot the ministry worker a smile. It comes out as a grimace.

"Nice day," I say. My voice cracks.

The woman throws me a wide-eyed glance and takes an uncomfortable step to the side in an obvious desire to be away from me.

Today is just not my day.

Abandoning my attempt at soothing the frenzied woman, I whip my mobile telephant out of my pocket.

Time to get down to business.

I hold the muggle electronic device in both my hands, staring at it determinedly.

I can work this thing. I can. I can do it. It's easy. Easy, peasy, Japanesey…. After all, if muggles can do it, it should be a piece of pie!

I jab at a button experimentally.

Nothing.

Oh, who the bloody hell am I kidding? I can't work one of these… these contraptions!

I groan, irritated, and pretend not to hear the small whimper that subsequently erupts from the quivering woman beside me.

Running a hand impatiently through my hair, I glare at the telephant.

Damn you, Narcissa Malfoy. If it weren't for my mother and her twisted paranoia, I wouldn't even be in this predicament; staring at a chunk of metal as if expecting it to actually do something, coming across as a mental asylum escapee in the process. Although… if it weren't for my mother and her twisted paranoia, I also wouldn't have the means to contact the special assistance I so dearly require.

Now, if only those 'means' would bloody work! I jab another button on the device.

Again, nothing.

Another button.

Still nothing.

TO HELL WITH MUGGLE INVENTIONS! They never work! And for the love of Sweet Merlin's belly button, why mother believes I am safer with a compilation of metal and plastic weighing down my pants, I will never understand.

"For emergencies," she'd insisted after explaining the telephant's use. Well hell if this isn't right up there with bouncing cheques and crinkled suits.

"Er, young man, do you… require an asthma puff?"

I blink and look up to see that the ministry worker has plucked up the courage to make contact.

"Excuse me?"

She stares at me intently, scrutinizing my face. "Are you having trouble breathing? Should I get a medic?"

…

WHAT IS TAKING THIS BLOODY LIFT SO LONG?

The woman is waiting for my answer when a series of chimes fill the air and my hands experience their own miniature earthquake. I look down.

It's the telephant.

It's alive.

I realize that I'd been clenching it so hard I must have awoken it somehow. And now it's yelling curses at me in its own melodious language.

I yell and drop the device abruptly. Next to me, the woman shrieks. Obviously, she – like myself – has never encountered such a dangerous creature before.

The lift finally jolts to a stop and the woman, still screaming bloody murder, leaps over the bleating telephant and squeezes her body out the barely open doors and out of sight.

Great. Next thing you know I'll have the Department of Quarantine charging me for illegal possession of foreign creatures.

The telephant lies innocently at my feet. It no longer buzzes or beeps, but there are several lights blinking and a small screen glares at me.

The people outside the lift are getting curious about the cause of the damn witch's screeching departure so – before I can be revealed – I scoop up the metallic beast and carefully (but hastily) deposit it in my pocket before their suspicious eyes can latch on to it.

I only take the telephant out of my pocket when I've seated myself at a muggle restaurant above the Ministry. I lay the device gingerly on the table, bottom side up. There, stuck on the bottom is a parchment list where Mother has alphabetically scrawled every emergency number I could ever need. Beneath 'Glorton, Deirdre – Pureblood Seamstress' I find the name that makes me sigh in relief: 'Dr Garvey, Suzanne – qualified pureblood healer, psychiatrist, therapist, chiropractor…' Dr Suzanne Garvey's credentials take up three whole lines on the list.

Repeating her number to myself, I find my patience has totally abandoned me and I rush to flip the phone over and punch in the 'phone number', as they call it. Then, I pick up the telephant and use both hands to hold it securely to my ear, adopting the alert, patient expression I've seen Granger put on when in this situation. Not at all surprisingly, the woman is a very experienced muggle-technology handler.

Brr,brrr. The telephant is purring in my ear. YES! IT LIKES ME!

I stroke it a little, hoping it's not purring because my ear smells tantalizingly edible.

My vacant gaze drops onto the young waitress who is leaning at the counter, watching me with an entertained expression.

Obviously, she thinks I'm mind-blowingly sexy.

I smirk and wink flirtatiously. For one whacky second, her face contorts in the exact same expression the ministry woman had given me when I bounded into the elevator. The next instant, her face is beetroot red and she bursts out in badly contained laughter, whirling around and disappearing into the back of the café.

Hmm. Not exactly the giggly, eyelash batting reaction I'm accustomed to, but the waitress was clearly muggle, and I'm not accustomed to those either.

"Hello?"

It's Dr Suzanne Garvey! I drop the telephant and look around hastily for a woman in a white medical coat, but there is none.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

My eyes widen as I realize the muffled and slightly crackly voice is coming from the telephant. That's right… Mother did say it was some sort of teleportation device, minus the body. I put the telephant back next to my ear.

"Ah – yes! Hello! Yes! It's – er – it is Draco Malfoy." I pronounce the words carefully, feeling utterly ridiculous.

"Mr. Malfoy? – Ah yes, Narcissa's son. Who else would have my private number?" She laughs, a little forcibly. "Well, Mr. Malfoy," she continues almost reluctantly, "it's been a while. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Righteo. Straight down to business.

"Er – yes –um, there is something wrong with me."

"I should think so! Your voice sounds terribly strained! Are you experiencing some pain in your throat – there's a case of the Oesophageal Frog going round, you know…"

"What – no! I have no Oesopho-toad, lady – I have something else. Something worse."

I realize Dr Suzanne can hear me just fine and there is no need to sound 'terribly strained'.

"Hmm," Dr Suzanne's voice hums. "Well why don't you come into my office whenever you can make time, and I'll check it out for you."

"No!"

Maybe that came out a little too powerfully. I bite my lip and try again. "I mean, I can't make time. And this is a bit of an emergency – can't you just try to cure me now? I mean – you are a witch…"

"Mr. Malfoy, what kind of problem is this? Is it physical? Because if it is, I will most likely need to see your injury before I can 'cure' you, as you say."

Inhale. Exhale. Iiiinhale. Eeexhale. INHALE, EXHALE, DRACO!

"I'm not sure whether it's physical or not, Dr Suzanne," I say tightly, my patience wearing thin. Can this woman help me or not? "I believe it may be internal."

"Internal?! Then you may have to come in so I can wand-ray you –"

"DR SUZANNE!" I abruptly stand from my seat and exit the café, unable to sit still in my irritation.

"Alright, alright. If you really insist, I suppose you should describe your symptoms. I will do my best."

I sigh thankfully as I wind aimlessly through the London streets, stopping here and there to pull a leaf off a tree.

"Alright, Dr Suzanne. Here it is… Well, it comes in sudden waves you see. All of a sudden – with no warning. I never feel doozy or light-headed before, but it leaves me in a bit of a daze when it's over…"

I can hear a pen scratching through the telephant (the beast seems to have calmed down considerably and sits limply in my hand). "And how do the actual… attacks, you could say – how do they feel?" Dr Suzanne prompts me.

I think a little before answering. "Well. I suppose it feels like those pink squiggly things inside you – what are you they called? –"

"Intestines."

"Yes – those. They clench. Painfully. Just a short squeeze is all. That's how it starts. Then I have to swallow rather hard – because of the intestine squeeze, you see. And then I get horribly heated, and I think I may even blush."

"Blush?"

"Yes! Now you understand how bad this is. Malfoy's do not blush .Although, it's more of a flush, you know? Due to the heat."

"Ah. Yes. Of course." Dr Suzanne sounds almost amused. Though I'm sure that's just because of all the hubbub of city people surrounding me which prevents me from hearing her properly. "Is that all?"

"Err…" I think. "Oh – no, there's more. My legs, possibly the joints in my knees – they go all slippery. As in, they feel like… jelly, I suppose. Like they can't support me. Yes, that's it. My knees go weak. And then – possibly again due to the heat – I start sweating. You know?"

"Yes. Of course, Mr. Malfoy."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Of course not, Mr. Malfoy."

"Humph… Yes. Well."

"Go on."

"… Fine. Well – this is most definitely the strangest part – my tongue – it swells."

"Swells?"

"Yes. I can't talk properly! I blabber, and stutter and it's bloody shameful! Maybe it's brain damage, what I have –"

"That may be a bit extreme, Mr. Malfoy –"

"But I've never experienced anything like it! I mean, it only happens when Gr –" I gasp, stopping dead in my tracks so that an elderly woman knocks my shoulder and then continues on after giving me a dirty look, grumbling about insolence and young people.

But it has finally hit me, what has happened. There is something wrong with me. But it's not my fault. Not at all.

"I've been cursed!"

"Excuse me?!"

"Hermione Granger has cursed me!"

At this, Dr Suzanne outright laughed. I was affronted.

"I'm being perfectly serious, Dr –"

"Yes, yes I know you are. However, your – ahem – symptoms, tell me that this Hermione woman has not put a curse on you, but rather cast you under her spell."

She sounded inappropriately smug. I frowned. This lady made no sense.

"But… she's done something to me – right?"

"Yes."

"And… you know what she's done?"

"Yes."

How did this woman get a PHD?

"THEN TELL ME HOW TO FIX IT, YOU DIMWITTED FOOL!"

"Mr Malfoy!"

"Oh get over it. Just tell me how I can end the torturous hex Granger's put on me, and then I can get on to plotting my revenge."

I've offended Dr Suzanne. I can tell by the way she harrumphs haughtily into the telephant. Why were women so sensitive? Just like that batshit crazy Granger.

I sigh internally. Time to turn on the charm.

"Suzanne, I chose you for a reason," I tell her in a soft, almost husky voice. Although Dr Suzanne is only a couple of years older than me, she's not exactly my type and I don't want her to think she is. "There are bucket loads of pureblood therapists out there. But I didn't even think about any of them when I realized I needed help. Merlin, Suzanne, you're intelligent, educated and gorgeous. I chose you because I knew that anyone with all that would be the only one to cure me over the phone. I know you can do it, Suzanne. In fact, you've done it already. I'm sorry I was such a jerk –" LIE, TOTAL LIE, "– but I'm just so stressed. Forgive me, please. I need to get that woman's curse out of my system... Come on. Help me, Suzanne."

Not my best, since it consisted of a hell of a lot of improvisation and some desperate compliments delivered in sexy tones, but it does the trick.

Sounding appropriately flustered, Dr Suzanne giggles. "You've always had a way with the ladies, Mr. Malfoy." Her voice turns proud as she continues, "Alright. If you really want to end this 'torture', as you say, here's what I – the intelligent, educated and gorgeous one – advise…"