title: therapy
by: megification
beta-ed by: steffie.

summary: Draco attends therapy, but only because his psychologist's receptionist is utterly gorgeous. Canon-compliant through Deathly Hallows, epilogue and all.
author's note: i am painfully aware of the fact that i update excruciatingly slowly. if it makes you feel any better, my livejournal (megification[dot]livejournal[dot]com) is updated before fanfiction because it takes me so goddamn long to reformat everything i upload here.


"I take it all the other medical professionals you've ever visited have only ever told you to 'get a grip on your emotions and move on'?" she asked one day.

Draco frowned, then nodded. He'd only had two other shrinks before (with similarily good-looking receptionists, but that was besides the point) and they'd expressed more or less the same sentiment.

She scribbled something down; pulled on her hair with her free hand-he'd come to notice she did that only when something was especially intriguing, and offhandedly wondered what he'd given away this time.

"Interesting," she murmured at last. Giving Draco a sideways glance, she asked (rather bluntly), "Do you have any friends?"

"W-wha-of course I do!" He replied indignantly, poise momentarily forgotten.

"Who, then?"

"There's..." he paused, "Th-there's Blaise, and Pansy, and my motherof courseand"

She cut in impatiently, "Anyone who isn't dead or was NOT part of your old House?"

He remained silent. She flipped a page in her notebook.

Later, before he left, she handed him a slip of paper with an address on it.

"What's this?" He asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"Nothing," she smiled serenelyannoyingly"Just a place you should eat at sometime."


The next day, Draco arrived at the address she'd given him. It was a rather quaint little place-a sign above the display window proclaimed it as the Gotham Café.

Upon entering, he noted, with some delight, a large and varied selection of pastries. Purchasing a mille-feuille, he picked out a table, sat down, and inhaled the nostalgia.

The afternoon sun was wonderful. He leaned back in his chair and stretched languorously, intentionally causing his jumper to ride up and show a sliver of pale skin.

"Malfoy? I didn't think the war'd set you so far back that you'd have to resort to whoring."

Draco didn't bat an eye. He looked to his right, straight into the green-eyed face of none other than the Saviour himself.

"Potter," he replied coolly, "Didn't think you'd have nothing better to do than look for rentboys after the war."


Today would be the thirty-first day of the seventh month since the start of their meetings.

Draco passed the gorgeous receptionist; he'd come to learn that his name was Sam.

Sam smiled up at Draco, "Morning, Mr Malfoy. You know the way to her room."

Draco flashed a dazzling grin back, allowed himself a moment to look over Sam approvingly, and headed down the hallway.

"Draco."

"Herr Doktor."

With an incline of her head, she indicated that Draco should sit. "Let's talk about your wife today."

He sat; answered measuredly, "Astoria? What about her?"

"How is she?"

"She's doing fine. She's pregnant again."

"Oh, is that so? That's wonder"

Draco interrupted her congratulations, "I'm not the father."

Silence filled the room, seemingly for hours, before Draco decided to elaborate. "She cheated in retaliation. Caught me with someone else."

There was another cow of a pause, then

"Oh. I see."

The session ended early. Draco paid another visit to the café.