Author's Note: Thanks for sticking with me over my evil cliff-hanger last chapter! StephanieO helped me with this chapter as usual because she's awsome. Shout-outs to my reviewers: Thaisapaes, goldensnitch0423, scrappy8, srhittson, RAVENCLAWDISTRICT1, triggbc, nesciamema, marinka, MrsGinPotter, tmtcitb.

It took me a while to write this chapter because I wanted the therapy to seem as authentic as possible (which required a lot of research)! I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: All creative rights belong to their original creator(s) and in no way are connected to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Publishing, or Warner Brothers. The author of the following fanfiction does not in any way profit from the story and is written solely for entertainment purposes only. Rights to characters and their setting is neither claimed nor implied.

Serendipity Chapter 10

I took Harry's hand and took a deep breath. How do you broach the subject of therapy to one's sort of boyfriend? I was nervous to see how he would react.

"Harry, we need to address a few….issues first. I would love to be in a relationship with you," he fought to tamper down his smile since he I mentioned our issues.

"What issues in particular?"

"I worry about you, Harry." I paused, trying to find the right words. Fearing I was making him more nervous, I figured I would just steal Hermione's words. "Are you at all familiar with crack addicts?"

Harry wrinkled his brows in confusion. "Ginny, I have never taken crack."

"It's a metaphor, stay with me. Crack addicts start out in small doses. It's a highly addictive illegal drug. Each time a person consumes the drug, they have to take a larger dose to achieve the same high. It consumes their thoughts and ruins their lives. They can't hold a proper job and they often die if they don't get help.

I'm worried that I am, or rather sex with me, is becoming your crack. You can't sleep without it and are using it to self medicate."

Harry let go of my hand and walked over to my window, peering down at the alley below my flat. "You sound like Hermione."

I shrugged helplessly, "She is a smart witch, Harry."

He balled his hands into fists, "So I can't date you because you think I'm using you like crack?"

I rushed to his side and took his right hand in mine, "No, no, no! I would love very much to date you, Harry but I think you need to seek some type of counseling as well. You understandably have a lot of leftover stress from the war and it's not getting any better."

Harry turned to me with confusion written on his face, "I thought you understood? I thought you were the same way?"

"Sort of, I suppose. I don't use sex or alcohol to self medicate but I do work out until I'm exhausted.'

Harry turned back to the window, deep in thought. I counted to ten. Then twenty. Then thirty. His silence was more than I could bear. I had lain out all of my cards on the table. I felt vulnerable. It would hurt twice as much as last time if he said no. But I knew if I carried on with him and our toxic past it would be even worse. To have that suffering on your shoulders for a lifetime - I couldn't fathom that.

Not being able to stand the quiet anymore, I blurted, "You could go talk to a psychotherapist."

Harry scoffed, "Like the ones in the Daily Prophet that deal with traumatised portraits? No thank you."

"They have ones for witches and wizards too. I hear they are most helpful. Please just go to one session? See how it goes and we could take it from there."

"I don't know, Ginny. Telling a stranger my private thoughts and fears?"

"They are sworn to secrecy. They are not allowed to breathe a word of what goes on in the sessions. If it would make you feel better, you could draw up a magical contract."

"All right...just…" He trailed off and then looked back up to my eyes, his eyes looking worried and scared. "Would you go with me?"

I flung my arms about his neck, "Of course I will!" I smattered his face with kisses, confused when he pulled back.

"We better stop there if you don't want me to ravish you."

My face fell. "Bloody hell, this is going to be hard, isn't it? We better get an appointment straight away."

I grabbed a copy of The Daily Prophet and sent a few letters out to make inquiries. Then I joined Harry in the kitchen and started drying the clean dishes and putting them back in the cupboards.

When the sink was empty, he turned and placed a chaste kiss on my forehead. "I guess I'd better get going then."

"It is rather late but would you like to sleep over? We could just sleep?" I felt stupid for offering. I knew he didn't like staying over at other's houses. He had put that into the magical contracts with his previous "relationships."

He ran a hand through his messy dark hair, "I suppose we could give it a go. If I floo home at 2:00 in the morning though, you'll understand that I couldn't sleep?"

I nodded, a little gobsmacked that he agreed, "Of course."

It was a little odd, preparing for bed with Harry. It was an oddly intimate thing to do. I dressed in long sleeved pajamas, not wishing to tempt him anymore than necessary.

I transfigured a hair pin into a toothbrush for Harry to use. He took an abnormally long time to clean his teeth. I caught myself cleaning my teeth a bit longer than I usually did.

He slept in his underwear and vest, placing his glasses on my bedside table. I wandlessly said, "Nox," and my bedroom was plunged into darkness.

"Ginny?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you run away from me this morning?"

I sighed and rolled over to face him, "Honestly? I was scared of my own feelings?"

"Seriously?"

I scoffed, "Do you have any idea how easy it would have been for me to say yes to your rather indecent proposal? Or any idea how many witches would have killed to be in my position? You are quite the catch, Harry."

"That's why I like you, Ginny, you're not like other witches. And I certainly don't feel like a catch. I feel like a bit of a pervert, using sex to fix things."

I scooted closer, wrapping an arm around his stomach and placing my head on his chest. "Please don't say that, Harry. There's not a rule book about conquering an evil maniacal wizard, saving the world, and living perfectly afterward. In fact most stories cut off after the exciting bits happen. 'Happily ever after' and all that nonsense. I think considering everything you've been through, you are still doing well. I mean you are still able to help people by being an auror. I just want to see a psychotherapist to make sure this problem doesn't consume us. If anything, this is because I love you."

There. It was out there. The love bomb had been dropped. For a moment that stretched into eternity, all I could hear was the sound of a motorbike going down the road below.

Then a warm hand was wrapped around my waist, another hand in my hair. "You don't know how much that means to me." His words sounded shaky, as if they were weighed down by a very great deal of emotion. I propped myself onto an elbow so I could see his face. He took a hand away and covered his face.

"Harry...are you?"

"No," was his muffled response.

"Come here," I pulled his head into my chest and stroked his hair as he wept softly.

"Sorry, Ginny." He said as he scrubbed his face and pulled away.

"Whatever for?"

"It's not a very masculine thing to do. Plus our relationship is so new, I wasn't planning on crying on you till our third date," he joked.

"Like I give a shit about that! And let's not count dates, let's just enjoy each other. I really do enjoy spending time with you, Harry."

He gave me a weak smile. "And I you, Ginny."

We fell asleep with his front curled up to my back.

Harry had an appointment two days following. The psychotherapist was able to squeeze us into their schedule after we had both finished with work at 5:00. Quidditch practice had concluded a little later than usual. I hadn't the opportunity for a shower and my hair was more unkempt than I would have liked. I did manage to change into a modest grey dress and low heels with a few clensing charms. I reapplied my makeup in the lift, which thankfully remained empty.

The psychotherapist's office was off of Diagon Alley in London, not two blocks from the Ministry of Magic. Harry had beaten me there easily. He stood when I barged into the waiting room. He looked fidgety and nervous. My heart swelled with gratitude. I knew he was doing this for me more so than himself. I hoped that in time he would come to see its benefit and that his own mental health was just as important as mine. He had a tendency to always put others before him - a quality I loved him for but also one that constantly put himself in danger.

As soon as I pecked him on the cheek and sat down beside him, the receptionist announced that it was Mr. Potter's turn. The psychotherapist's office was large and tidy, with an alarming amount of books along the far wall. Long windows afforded a nice view of the London street below and allowed a bit of fading sunlight into the room. The carpets were covered by two large oriental rugs with intricate patterns. A large sofa was on our right with two wingback chairs facing it. A coffee table sat in between with a tea service.

The psychotherapist was an older woman, perhaps around my mother's age. She had greying brown hair that was tied up behind her and a few wrinkles settling around her eyes and mouth. She smiled and stood to shake our hands.

"Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley, such a pleasure to meet you both. My name is Joan Pye. Please come in and sit down."

Harry gestured for me to sit first and settled in beside me on the sofa.

"Tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

She waited until we were situated before she began. "So I understand from my receptionist that it is Mr. Potter that I am treating?"

Harry's teacup trembled ever so slightly, "Yes ma'am."

"And Miss Weasley is here for moral support, is that correct?"

I smiled, "Yes, ma'am. Is that agreeable?"

"It is perhaps a little unusual but should not be a problem at the moment." She picked up a pad of parchment and a self-writing quill. "Mr. Potter, perhaps you would tell me a little about what you hope to accomplish during these sessions."

Harry placed his tea, mostly untouched on the coffee table and took my left hand before he began to speak, "I have terrible nightmares mostly. My friends seem to think I am using sex and alcohol as a means of avoiding them. Which I most likely am really. My girlfriend," I blushed, it was the first time since Hogwarts he referred to me as his girlfriend! "She thinks I should address the actual problem so it doesn't take over my life. She has trouble with the nightmares too though."

Mrs. Pye's attention was on me now, "Is that so, Miss Weasley?"

"Yes ma'am. I play professional quidditch so I usually just work out until the point of exhaustion to keep away the night terrors. Although I have noticed their absence when Harry sleeps over."

Harry's eyebrows rose, "Really? That was the same for me too!"

Mrs. Pye nodded, "Yes, sometimes a couple's magic can do that. As I trust you of all people know, Mr. Potter, love is our most powerful source of magic and can often do things to help those we love most.

"Now as a course of treatment, I recommend something very simple. Often when people are placed in very traumatic situations where they have to take another's life or witness another's life being taken, it takes a toll on the mind as well as the soul. Are you at all familiar with post-traumatic stress disorder?"

Harry nodded but I shook my head. "I'm afraid I am not."

Mrs. Pye continued, "It is a condition known as failure to recover after a traumatic event. It can last anywhere from months to years but it is treatable. Symptoms include insomnia, night terrors, anxiety, self-isolation, anger, self-destructive behaviours, and more. Some experience flashbacks to the specific incidents themselves. Have either of you experienced any flashbacks?"

Harry nodded once, "I did about a week after the battle. One moment I was in my friend's kitchen, and the next I thought I was facing Voldemort again. I would have destroyed their house if he hadn't disarmed me and put me in a body bind. I snapped out of it when I hit the floor though. It scared me."

I closed my mouth, which had unattractively popped open during his admission. Mrs. Pye turned to me, "And you, Miss Weasley?"

"No ma'am, just the night terrors."

"I would like to treat both of you. Is that acceptable, Miss Weasley?"

"Yes, of course," I said quickly. What kind of hypocrite would I be if I made only Harry seek treatment?

"I primarily do a lot of talk therapy. I am a licensed healer as well so I may also prescribe potions to help if there are any more flashbacks or bouts of insomnia. We may continue to do this together but I feel I could do my best work on a one-on-one basis, if that is agreeable to Mr. Potter?"

Harry fidgeted for a moment and looked over at me, "Could I have her in the waiting room...just in case?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter. That is a very reasonable request. I will have my receptionist schedule adjacent appointments for you both."

Mrs. Pye spoke for a bit more about post-traumatic stress disorder itself, how it can take root in the mind. It could take over your body and magic if left untreated. She praised us for seeking help and encouraged us to get our other friends who fought in the war to seek help as well. She pointed out the stigma against seeking mental help and the importance of it. She had seen far too many veterans lose their lives to post-traumatic stress disorder.

I left the office still holding Harry's hand and feeling as if a large stone had been removed from my shoulders. "Fancy getting dinner?"

Harry was awful quiet. "Sure, you pick."

We ate at a small Italian restaurant one block away. I had eggplant lasagna that was lovely. Harry ordered a salami pizza that looked heavenly. I beat him to the check (even though he looked annoyed) because I had my muggle money prepared under the table. He had done so much for me today, I wanted to do something for him in return.

Out again on London's busy streets I asked him, "Do you want to sleep over? It seems to help with the nightmares."

He merely nodded. We went back to my flat and got ready for bed. The silence was palpable. "Harry, are you alright? You have been so quiet."

He put his glasses on my bedside table and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "Yes, it's just a lot to process, you know?"

I rolled closer, not wanting to crowd him but wanting to offer reassurance all the same. I placed one hand on his large one. "How so?"

"I'm just trying to absorb everything the therapist said. I'm glad you made me go, in a way. But part of me wishes I hadn't gone."

"Why is that?"

"Because I could go on being in denial and pretending everything is fine, I suppose."

I understood, This was the problem, looming in our minds. We had to face it head-on now.

"Harry?" I said after a pause, not certain if he was still awake.

"Hmm?"

"I am very proud of you, love."

He rolled to face me and planted a chaste kiss on my forehead. "And I, you."