For those of you who survived my first chapter here is another one:) Thank you for your comments! XXX


I must have misheard. I surely did.

In my office reigns a ringing silence now. I stare wide-eyed at my patient who've just made a confession of his life. Or so I guess judging by the all-physical-laws-breaking speed with which his face turned deep scarlet.

"Excuse me?" I finally manage to choke out clutching my desk for support.

"Er...I'm in love?" This time it comes out more like a question. "With a girl." He adds hastily, a picture of pure embarrassment imprinted on his face. Suddenly the absurd hilarity of the situation hits me fully and I suppress the urge to start laughing manically. Here I am expecting he would tell me something really terrible like him killing someone in self-defense or being forced to take drugs against his will...and here he is telling me he's in love. IN LOVE. If God exists he must be having hysterics right now. And so would I if it wasn't for the thoroughly miserable person in my office who is now evidently trying to merge with the chair he's sitting on. His cheeks are so red that I can feel the heat radiating from him.

"Well, that doesn't sound that terrible to me." I voice out my thoughts unable to suppress amusement. His deep red face shots me an I'm-about-to-die-of-heartache-so-I-really-don't-see-anything-funny-about-it look. I must have clearly misunderstood him.

"You...you don't understand." I know that already. He sighs. Undoubtedly he's starting to realize what a mistake he's done by seeking a therapist in the first place (not to mention a therapist like me). He murmurs something like: "For Merlin's sake, what am I doing here," and rubs his face roughly with both hands. I notice he has a thin scar on his right hand. It almost looks like a short message written by someone with a very bad handwriting. But I can't tell for sure, it's too tiny and I forgot my contacts today (frankly I was glad I could find my bathroom). I'm wondering how many scars does this boy have. I decide I really don't want to know.

He gets up abruptly. "Thank you for your time", he mumbles addressing his shoelaces. I watch him readjusting his battered glasses and then stuck his hands deep into pockets of his baggy jeans. There is definitely something eerie about him. He gives me one last quick look and turns to leave. I suddenly realize I don't want to let him go. Not yet. Some part of my brain seems to take pity on him and some other part, the most dominant one, wants to know more about this boy. So I hear myself saying: "Harry, being in love is beautiful. What seems to be the problem?" This time I am genuinely concerned and try with all my might to show it on my tired face.

He stops with his hand on the doorknob no doubt surprised by my sudden interest. He scrutinize me for a long moment. He opens his mouth only to close it again apparently torn between his resolution to never speak to any therapist ever again and his desperate need for one. Finally he let go of the doorknob and sits back uncertainly.

This lad must be surely desperate. Nothing but a total desperation can lead a teenage puberty-stricken boy to expose himself to some middle-aged female therapist in order to seek for some love-advice. I must give him credit for it. He's certainly not a coward. I will try my best to help him although I am more of a don't-kill-or-otherwise-harm-yourself-and-everything-will-be-alright kind of a therapist. I obviously tend to underestimate pure agony of a teenage love.

"So you are in love." I assume feeling little stupid for stating the obvious.

"Yes." He replies shortly giving me a long searching look. I hold his gaze without twitching a muscle. I try to tell him wordlessly that I am on his side even though it doesn't seem so at first. Ever so slowly something changes in his expression. He still stares at me cautiously but his eyes are no longer wary. I feel as if I had passed some sort of test. He takes a deep breath...

"I don't know what to do...I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't concentrate, I can't...I can't stop thinking about her." He hurls out breathlessly as if afraid that someone might stop him and he will never be able to voice out his sufferings. "She's on my mind all time. Even now." He adds weakly. Then he gets a grip on himself and sets his jaw. "I can't afford it."

OK, he lost me again. I thought this would be a classic case of "I love her but she doesn't even know I exist" problem. I could cope with that. I see it in romantic comedies all the time. He'd simply just need to get really good at some sport, start singing in a school play or totally change his outfit. But this...who can't afford to be in love at 16?

"Why?" I ask simply puzzled.

"Why what?"

"Why can't you afford it?" I lived under the impression a bit of snogging isn't that time consuming.

"Well...it's complicated." He shifts uncomfortably. I raise my eyebrows questioningly. I'm really curious what revelation will come out of him this time.

"I need to concentrate on... much more important things right now." He concludes in a resolute tone that clearly says that I'm not getting any more information out of him even if I stood on my head. He's not even blushing any more. I'm impressed.

"Ok. Fine. Tell me more about your girl then." I offer a change of a subject.

"She's not my girl." He corrects me automatically and for a brief moment he looks like a little boy whose favorite toy was stolen. She must mean a lot for him. So I was right after all. This IS a classic romantic-film story. Now I just need to find out whether he needs sport, singing or outfit solution.

"What is she like?" I put on my motherly tone.

He looks at me incredulously. "I don't want to talk about her. What I want is to get her out of my mind!" He raises his voice emphasing last words as if speaking to a simpleton.

A bit melodramatic, aren't we? "I can't change your feelings like that," I flip my fingers. "I'm a therapist, I can't do magic." I grin at him. He simply glares back.

I must make clear what I can do for him. I most certainly don't prescribe pills that erase girls out of one's mind at a command. "I can help you slowly change your feelings for her. But for that I will need you to tell me more about her. We can find she's not so perfect and then you might realize that she's not worth all the trouble." Or that a toned body or a better taste in dressing is all you need to win her heart.

He shoots me a doubtful look but then nods resignedly. "Fine."

"So what is she like?"

"She's divine." He says without hesitation and for a brief second his eyes gleam dreamily as if he remembered some particularly fine feature of his "divine" girlfriend. I try to picture her myself. My inner eye presents me a girl-angel impersonated. She has long blond hair always flawlessly arranged into perfect curls, heavenly blue eyes with eyelashes capable of causing a hurricane and body like a model. She needs a special house for all her clothes and loves puppies. The whole world is wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger and boys got dreamy-gleamy eyed whenever they see her. And they drool. And Harry drools the most...

I realize I'm grinning madly and Harry is giving me a funny look.

"And what does she look like?" I ask quickly trying to suppress the image of drooling Harry in my mind.

"Well, she's heaven..." Harry starts and then stops when I let out a half-suppressed giggle.

"Please continue." I smile apologetically.

"She...she has beautiful eyes." He continues cautiously but then his eyes got that dreamy gleam again and he starts describing her as if she was just standing right before him. "Sometimes they're the colour of dark chocolate... and sometimes they are like honey, almost golden. I could look into them for hours and still wouldn't be able to tell the right shade."

With each word his gaze gets more gleamy and his smile widens until finally he wears a scull-splitting grin. His eyes are glistening feverishly and his cheeks are flushed. "She has tiny freckles all over her face. Especially on her nose. I'd love to count them but I don't want to stare too much." His smile fades for a moment but then he regains his manic expression again.

"She has brilliant hair. They tend to fall into her eyes whenever she concentrates on something and then she tries to blow them away... it never works." He chuckles lightly. "Her hair are most beautiful in the sun, they sort of glint and glitter. I always want to just run my fingers through them... to find out if they are as fine as they look." He raises his hand and runs his fingers through imaginary scalp of hair in the air. He's in some state of frenzy and it starts to be pretty terrifying..

"She has the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. It warms me from head to toes and I suddenly feel I can manage anything in the world. It's even better than Patronus." Patronus? What the hell is Patronus? I just hope it's not some hallucinogen. "And her lips. They're perfect..." He gets suddenly serious staring intently at some point in the air. He tilts his head slightly to the right his gaze burning with intensity. With his hand still running through imaginary hair he starts to lean forward pursing his lips. It takes me a stunned second before I realize what he's doing. He's about to kiss his imaginary girlfriend... Ok, that's it.

"Why, she sounds a real charmer!" I point out loudly. Although it's not my image of an angel impersonated.

He shots me an irritated look as if I have just really interrupted his snogging session. Then he looks at his hand holding invisible lock of "brilliant hair" and his eyes slowly widen. Reality must have finally sink on him. Or so I guess for his gleamy expression is quickly replaced by a mortified one.

"Er...I, um, I'm..." He stutters.

"The way you described her I understand why you're in love with her." I wink at him in crazy attempt to ease his utter embarrassment. Somehow it didn't work and he's now red as a CocaCola can.

"What does she do? Is she your classmate?" I offer a new topic giving him time to restore his dignity.

"I know her from school." He replies shortly obviously not wanting to get carried away again. I don't blame him.

"And how does she feel about you? Are you close?"

He nods uncertainly. "She's my friend... sort of."

"Sort of?"

"It's not important really. I can't go out with her even if I wanted to. It's too dangerous." He stops suddenly a flick of panic in his eyes. He clearly said more than he wanted.

"Why is it dangerous? Is she dangerous?" I ask a bit alarmed. The last thing this boy needs is a dangerous girl to fall in love with. I bet she's some beautiful junky using this "Patronus" and seducing young boys to lure money out of them. No wonder her eyes change colour she's probably high all the time.

"No. It's me. I'm dangerous." He confesses grimly.