Okay, so here goes my second Drarry fanfiction! I just love them so much...hopefully this one is completely different than my first, and I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, except those of my own invention.

Tinley The Therapist

"Tell me more about those feelings," the therapist said, giving Harry a pointed look. As if she knows better. As if she understands. As if she's been through worse. Yeah, right. Hell, I'm sure the worst thing she's ever been through is not being able to keep her fucking pin curls in the right place. God, I don't even know what I'm doing here. Harry sat up straighter, crossing his arms.

"Why don't you do some talking, huh? I feel like I'm just rambling on to a brick wall. You're a therapist, why not therapy me a little bit?" He said coldly. The therapist, a young witch by the name of Tinley Percival, adjusted her glittery spectacles and carefully placed a curl behind her ear. She leaned forward, clasping her hands together and looking down at Harry as if he was a child.

"Now Harry," she said softly, sweetly. "I can't tell you what you want to hear. That would be lying, and I can't lie to you, because that won't help you. If you want me to help you,"-but Harry had stopped listening. Because those words, those sickly sweet words had reminded him of somebody else. Somebody he did not want to think of. And then he felt it. The cold trickle of fear spreading down his back, and the tightening of his muscles. His jaw clenched together, and his palms began to sweat. The therapists words faded away, while Harry's eyes widened and he gasped.

He was sitting in Dolores Umbridge's horrible, pink office she occupied at Hogwarts, with the little china plates on the walls. Harry, feeling very cold yet warm at the same time, as if he were running a very high fever, turned around, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He could not see or hear Umbridge, but he could sense her nearby, ready to pounce. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he looked down at his hand, only to see himself clutching that godforsaken quill.

He tried to drop it, but he couldn't, and then he started to write. I must not tell lies. Over and over again, and the pain wouldn't stop and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't focus, and there was Umbridge screaming at him and performing the Cruciatus curse on him, and he was writhing in pain, so much pain, so much umbearable pain, and then it was gone.

Harry was back in his therapists' office, lying on the couch, his hair sticking to his forehead and his heart racing. Tinley was kneeling down next to him, clutching his hand, which was holding hers so tight his knuckles were white. Harry felt as if a dementor had just entered the room, if not worse. Tinley slowly helped Harry sit up, and Summoned a glass of water, which zoomed into Harry's hand. Harry, trying to return his breathing to normal, downed the water, which seemed to help clear his head. He checked and rechecked his hand, but the scars were faded, old.

"What was that one about? What triggered it?" Tinley asked, her voice grave and serious. It was the first time Harry had ever had an episode in front of his therapist. He swallowed, and kept looking around the room, not making eye contact with Tinley. "It, uh, it was about Umbridge, and the quill that scarred me, and when she almost tried torturing me, but she didn't, but she did, but not in real life," Harry stammered, losing his train of thought.

"Harry, look at me," Tinley said, catching his hand, which had been running over the fabric of the couch. Harry looked at Tinley, but didn't feel reassured. In fact, he felt slightly afraid. She, after all, had triggered the flashback. "You need to remind yourself, when you're having these episodes, that it's not real, and that you have control over what happens, what the outcome is," she instructed, but Harry wasn't really listening. He remembered how he had failed at Occlumency, and he didn't see how what Tinley was asking him to do was any different.

Tinley leaned back in her chair, and waved her wand. A piece of parchment with a date and address printed on it flew toward Harry, floating gently down onto his lap. He picked it up gingerly, peering at it. He looked up at Tinley. She gestured to the parchment. "I can tell that your sessions with me aren't helping, and so I think it'd be a good idea for you to start going to group therapy. There are people who have the same disease you do, and perhaps hearing from them will help you heal and help give you some understanding. You're not alone in this, Harry, not anymore,"

Tinley waved her wand again, and scribbled something down on another piece of parchment, and handed it to Harry, who looked at it hesitantly. "Meanwhile," Tinley continued. "I want to start you on medication, twice a day, ever day, until you feel you don't need it," Harry cut her off. "I don't need medication!" he exclaimed, feeling slightly offended. He had every right to be a little stressed. After all, it had only been mere weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts and the defeat of Voldemort. Tinley slammed her hand on the table between her and Harry, startling Harry in the process.

"You have PTSD, Harry, that's Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and your episodes have become frequent, and in some cases, violent. Now, I know that you want to get better, but having a little assistance does not mean that you are weak or less of a man, or whatever you think. I'm just trying to keep you safe, and the people around you safe. Now, you will attend group therapy once a week, you will take your medication as prescribed, and if you don't then I will continue scheduling these little one-on-one meetings until you can no longer say you suffer from PTSD-related flashbacks! Do you understand me?" she finished, a few of her curls becoming loose and entangled.

Harry, utterly taken aback, nodded quickly, his eyes wide. He never thought Tinley the therapist would lash out at him like that. Tinley waved her hand. "You can go. I'll be checking in with the director of group therapy, so don't think I won't know if you don't show up," she warned, as Harry hastily got up and headed toward the door. Just as he was twisting the doorknob, Tinley caught his attention again. Groaning, Harry turned around.

"If it makes you feel better, Harry," she said, not looking at him. "There's someone in group therapy that I'm sure you'll recognize," Harry waited for more, but Tinley was silent, having preoccupied herself with paperwork. Harry turned around, and opened the door, walking briskly outside, and then Disapparating, eager to get as far away from Tinley Percival as possible.