Vonne: Thanks so much for all the responses. I appreciate all of them so very much! Thanks again!

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Shining Bright Eyes: Exactly! HA, Lucius does love his son, but he probably would have a hard time expressing such. With is funny you even mentioned that because this chapter I wrote before even reading your review. You'll soon find out how much I really do agree with that statement.

Thwarted Moody: Of course I'll answer your questions (: HA. I like getting them to answer. Thanks for all your reviews, that's why I update so quickly. I have reason to from everyone that does so. It's quite motivating.

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Chapter Eleven:
A Bit of an Underestimation

Narcissa Malfoy grabbed the tie around her son's shoulders, looped it around quickly, and backed away to admire her work. "I think this is going to be good for you, Draco," she mused, examining everything as a whole. She pressed her lips together in a beautiful smile, truly attractive despite having aged, and put her hands up prayer-like to her chest. What she was unaware of was how much she'd been embarrassing her son, who stood limp and red faced across from her. With his blond hair slicked back and his shoes over polished, he tired to pretend he was not standing in the square waiting room. However, his parents had insisted: therapy. He should have suspected that after a while he'd have had to of given in.

Red velvet was fairly the overlying theme of the entire place and each chair looked uncomfortable, as if it had never truly been broken in. Lucius Malfoy appeared to be the first ever to try one out, though his interest wasn't in how comfortable it was. He was perched forward, his left hand resting on his knee, and he stared at Draco with a slightly sorrowful look. But it was Draco who kept himself rooted to not saying a word and feeling quite like a twenty-two year old child, he allowed his father to watch as his mother licked her fingers and smoothed back the last of her son's stray hair. "Your mother's right, Draco," Lucius said finally, when the silence had grown rather excruciating, "this will be quite good for you."

But because Draco couldn't quite think of a satisfactory lie he only stood there, zombie-like and stone faced. How did he get here in the first place? He wasn't even quite sure himself, though he vaguely remembered something involving the night before. He'd been admittedly rather tipsy when his father strode in, just about catching him in the middle of fiddling with the radio. Luckily, he'd stuffed it under his pillows, transferred himself to an appropriate stand point, and watched the blurry vision of his father tell him that his mother and he had been talking. And everything had sunk from there-- but didn't it always when someone mentioned a talk? Even as drunk as he had been, he could tell something was wrong. But he couldn't prepare himself for the therapy aspect of it all. And the moment his father had said so, all Draco could hear was the pounding of his own ear drums. In a daze he'd agreed, though he didn't truly have much of a choice.

However, luck seemed to grace him ever so slightly as of currently; the waiting room was completely empty besides the Malfoys, who stood slightly uneasily in the red room. "Oh, Draco," his mother said, taking a step back, "you look so handsome." Blinking, Draco found that it was time to smile, and he did so mechanically; because he considered it the socially acceptable thing to do. Was his mother impervious to the dark bags under his eyes? The undeniable stench of liquor on his tainted breath? Perhaps so, but Draco felt a ping of suspicion that his father wasn't completely unaware of it all.

Lucius did not let on if he did know, nonetheless. His fingers crawled around the top of his walking stick nervously and he only stared at his son, watching him rather than simply looking. "Just tell the therapist exactly what's on your mind, alright? In and out, just a try, hm?" Narcissa's attempt at trying to coax her son into relaxation was going rather ignored despite Draco's blank visage. "It's not a permanent thing... just dip your feet in the idea." Desperation swam slightly behind her dazzling irises. "You're going to do brilliantly, sweetheart."

"Narcissa," Lucius said, finally giving what looked like a smile that was forced of out both annoyance and nerves, "don't crowd our son. Of course he's going to do splendidly." He talked more at Draco, keeping his eyes firmly locked back into his. Something flickered behind his eyes and instantly Draco's own vanity told him that maybe his father was proud that he had even agreed to go in the first place. Heated and sheepish, Malfoy wished for a way out, something to surely save him from the likes of this very moment. He fumbled with his hands in his pockets, wishing he'd brought the radio along with him. It had turned into something of a safety blanket, if he could ever thought he'd needed such a thing. Having left it under the comfort of his bed pillow, he felt at even more of a bitter loss. But as awkward as the situation seemed to be, it was the opening door behind him proved to be just the savior Draco needed.

Draco spun around, though his parents' eyes only moved forward to meet the new shadow that entered the room. "Draco Malfoy?" said the new voice, which belonged to an old woman, who was tall despite her peaked age. She took in the sight of the three looming blonds, smiled slightly, and extended her hand out behind her, already eager to start. "Ah, very nice to meet you," she continued and Draco wondered if that was a lie, "your parents have told me so much about you."

Ah, of course they had. A new swell of heat overtook his face. Temples throbbing, he begun to ache with the drum of a nauseatingly inducing headache. But he wasted no time; nodding to his parents, he made his way towards the woman and held his havering breath as he entered her office. She shut the door gently and walked to her seat with a timid expression that was only just put on for the moment. Once again gesturing with her thin arms, she gracefully directed Malfoy to his seat. "I have to admit," Draco said quietly, "I'm not really sure what to tell you." He didn't offer her a polite smile, but only managed a sorrowfully lost grimace, "I've never done this before."

"Just tell me a bit about yourself," she said, taking her own seat, "I'd like to hear something about the type of person you consider yourself to be." Malfoy's shoulders sunk. How bleak could she be? Feeling hopeless about the situation, he'd only wished she'd offered him something much broader to start out with.

Stammering, Draco provided her with only a shrug, "I... c-couldn't tell you that even if I tried."

Nodding, she took several notes, but kept her focus only on her patient. The clipboard floating next to her made Draco a bit nervous and he was careful not to make any sudden moves. "Ah, well, if you don't mind, I'd like to do a bit of hypnosis. Do you think you'd be alright with that?"

Draco reeved back, blinking. That had been rather unexpected and instantly a cold chill went up his hunched spine. Perhaps he had underestimated this therapy session altogether. Here he's been thinking he'd simply have to identify what a couple sheets of blotched ink looked like to him. With a newly uneasy feeling in the pit of his already churning stomach, he gave the woman's office one quick look over. The name tag on her desk read 'Elaine Galer' and everything was neat and in place. Ms. Galer's white hair looked perfect on her tiny head and it was no wonder his parents had picked her out from the pool of therapists to choose from; neat and tidy, she looked as if she could seemingly be trusted.

But Draco could always see through 'seemingly'. He didn't think he was at risk of anything other than exposure, and the thought of spilling his guts frankly gave him the chills. But then what was he to do? Return back to his hopeful mother and tell her that he'd refused to do what Galer had recommended? Surely he couldn't do such a thing; besides, he was sure his father wouldn't approve of such an idea either. As if testing it out, Draco asked hoarsely, "hypnotism? You want to mess with my head?"

"Don't think of me messing with anything, Draco," Ms. Galer replied cooly, "think of it like taking the necessary steps forward. Do you want to get better?"

Instantly, Malfoy turned ghostly white. Did he want to get better? What sort of question was that? "Yes," he admitted longingly, and Galer smiled. And that much was true. Draco Malfoy was not useful while miserable. Even Malfor managed to realize that about himself. He needed back the same motivation, the same determination. More than anything he longed to see the meaning behind life and living again. He only saw life as taking the same steps forward, the same motions over and over and over again. And that scared him more than anything.

The hovering clipboard floated from the air, resting itself on the table. Then the quill went down along with it and at its sinking shadow, Galer allowed herself to rise up. She took her long wand in her hands and strode over to Malfoy, who watched her with horrified anticipation. "Alright, that's good," she said nodding, "that tells me a lot about you already. Now, just lay back and shut your eyes." Pausing, Malfoy watched the room as the curtains swung shut. Then, because there was nothing else he could think of doing, he laid back on the couch, shifting slightly. "Now just shut your eyes, and relax." Obligingly, he did so. But the raising and falling of his chest signified that he wasn't exactly relaxing. "Relax," she said again, soothing and then instantly, everything went black.

But the closing curtain that shut behind Draco's eyes proved only temporary. Everything begun to rush into view, swiftly rearranging itself from the previous total chaos. He could see the room again, though only somewhat, and everything was hazy and blurred and fuzzy. It was as if he had been only intoxicated and the headache was still undoubtedly present in his foggy mind. He could feel the aches and chills of having drunk too much, but the prickling pins and needles sensation in his body made it utterly impossible to move. He felt like jelly, a complete puddle on the surface of the woman's otherwise rock hard couch. He watched her shadow lean back, cross her legs underneath her long skirt, and heard her voice say blurred, "alright, Mr. Malfoy, how do you feel?"

"Nonexistent," he heard his voice say, but it was with a sloppy tone, slurred and unnecessarily elongated as if he'd been woken up from a deep sleep.

Casually, Galer responded, "that's perfectly normal. It just means that you're relaxed. Now I'm going to ask you a couple of questions, Mr. Malfoy." Something new throbbed through his entire body; a feeling of lightness and simplicity. He'd never been as relaxed. What had she done to him? He'd seen her only just lift her wand and, now feeling slightly goofy, he felt a dopey smile cross his face and a rush of confusion. He couldn't think about lying now; no such ability even seemed possible to him at the moment. His grin faded and Galer chuckled to herself before continuing. "Now, would you like to explain to me the type of person you think you are?"

The answer practically escaped from his mouth. Sloppily, he heard himself say, "I'm not a good person."

"And what makes you say that? Other than what you've done in your past. What makes you think so badly of yourself now?"

He felt himself raise his jelly arms, fiddle with the collar of his nice shirt. Nervously, his hand slid up to his forehead, sweaty and running with perspiration. From there, it flopped off of his head, once again loose and lifeless. "I've done nothing to make up for everything I've done and... and... I can't forget the past," he said, sounding whiney and boyish, "the past doesn't go away just like that..."

"So, what steps are you taking to better yourself? Are you doing such a thing?"

"... Seeing old mates," he moaned, "contemplating m-my future."

"Ah," Galer said, with a hint of what seemed like hope, "that's not a bad thing, Draco. Everyone thinks about their future. Where do you see yourself in the future?"

A redness overtook Draco's face. He crunched forward, turning on his side and practically hugging himself. "Six feet under," he replied with a miserable laugh. But he felt nothing close to happiness. He felt the numbing trickle of spit fall from the side of his mouth and his eyes slightly glaze over with tears. He wasn't quite sure what was making him so emotional, though he was no longer feeling uplifted as previously before. Instead, he felt a sinking feeling that taunted his insides, made him almost physically sick with despair.

Galer's face sunk. A morose and sad expression had become obvious even from Draco's view of her fuzzy face. She removed the glasses from the bridge of her nose, leaned forward and when she spoke, her voice sounded strained and sad, ".... and what makes you say that?" she repeated, solemnly.

"Because I know it. I'll... I'll either drink myself to death or be killed or..."

"Mr. Malfoy, listen to me," Galer said, concerned. She leaned further off of her chair, touching Draco's shoulder, though he instantly shrug away from her hand, curling up tighter within himself. "Draco, you have every reason in the world to live. Alright... you've got all the time in the world to get better. Okay? You've got a long time to work on improving your life-- on making it how you want it to be truly? Do you understand me?" But how could he possibly understand her? In his current state, he could hardly understand the way he'd gone from feeling so relaxed to so utterly devastated. His lack of an answer sent Ms. Galer reeling back and, mulling the situation over a bit, she extracted her wand from her lap, rose it, and Draco's eyes opened with a little flutter. After a moment of strange silence, she said soothingly, "that'll be all for today, Mr. Malfoy. If you could... send your parents in after you."

And, leaving without another word, Malfoy considered his current complexion; tears streaming down his face, lips wet, though his throat was undoubtedly dry. In even more of a daze than he had been the entire evening, he exited the office sheepishly and strode into the waiting room looking at the soles of his shoes, rather than at the faces of his parents. He didn't say a word, though the looming shadow of Galer back at the door made his parents rise up instantly, in unison as if purposefully. He didn't bother to notice as his father gave him an inquisitive look before disappearing behind the therapist's door altogether.

Furthermore, Lucius Malfoy wasn't prepared to go into the therapist's office in the first place. He squinted at the overly darkened room and sat there loosely as his wife slipped her tiny hand into his. It wasn't really fair making her suffer about her son all this much. She had tried too hard to make everything right again. But it had been five whole years... and Lucius had gotten over it-- or at least had appeared to of have. Why was Draco, such a bright and intelligent boy, so hard to reach? Surely, he'd have enough self confidence to support such a goal. However, Lucius Malfoy's denial truly did nothing for him. Standing stick-like and straight, he braced himself for the worst, despite deciding to put on a face as if he'd expected nothing at all.

"What's seems to be the problem, Ms. Galer?" Narcissa asked lifelessly. She had been slightly shaking, however had managed to keep her infamous composure for quite a surprisingly long while. With the door behind them closed, both the Malfoy's watched the older woman approach her desk, raise her wand once again, and whip each curtain open once again, letting in the bright sun at once. "Is something wrong with Draco?"

Analyzing Mrs. Malfoy's question, Ms. Galer chewed slightly on her bottom lip, a habit she had once tried to break. However, in situations like this, she was never too good on delivering bad news. "Ms. Malfoy, I'm afraid to say that I believe your son is severely depressed."

Lucius winced slightly, "depressed?" he repeated, as if exceedingly doubtful, "that's highly unlikely." The silence seemed to stir him a bit, and with an assertive step forward, he practically declared, "he may be a little... out of it... but I hardly consider---"

"Mr. Malfoy, I would indeed consider your son to be out of touch, yes," nodding, Ms. Galer shifted her weight, stood in the light of the sinking sun.

Narcissa strode forward, surpassing the stand point of her husband, "what exactly did Draco say to you, Ms. Galer?" There was a strong fit of pity behind her otherwise cruel eyes, that signified that she perhaps wasn't as horrible as she was so widely speculated to be. "Please." She no longer looked as put together and radiant as she'd looked only moments ago. It was undeniable that the dark bags had surely begun to creep under her shaking eyes. Her hands rose to her chest as if in a slight prayer, and her face had drained of any significant color she'd had left in it.

However, she would not be happy with the response. "Unfortunately," Ms. Galer said slowly, "there is such thing as patient confidentiality. Though I can tell you that I'm quite sure your son is unhappy... perhaps suicidal."

"Suicidal," Lucius repeated, as if only just trying out the sound of it. Then, instantly unsatisfied, he shook his head back and forth swiftly, "no. Impossible."

Nonetheless, Narcissa asked desperately, "what can we do for him? How can we help him?" There were tears glowing behind her eyes now and she looked more aged than ever. Wrinkles lining the top of her forehead were so obvious that it was almost unbearable. On the outer lining her her cheeks, further lines defined her otherwise lovely face.

"I'd suggest medication..." Galer suggested, but Lucius Malfoy's sunken face clearly put her advise to rest.

"No," he stated, once again shaking his head, "no medication."

Galer froze, stiff beyond belief. She had heard everything about the Malfoys, but she never truly realized how much they cared for their son. Sure, they'd made the wrong choices, but they'd made them as a family. And wasn't that, after all, the real reason why'd they escaped jail time in the first place? "Well," she said, compassionately, "you've heard my advice... if all else, just... keep an eye on him."

"Come on, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said once he'd protruded from the therapist's office in front of his wife, who lingered slightly in the back. "We're going home."

Malfoy, seated on the chair that turned out to be as uncomfortable as he'd expected, looked up from what could have only been described as an even deeper daze than before. His father's stature told him that their goal towards leaving the building was something that Lucius wanted to get done as soon as possible. From the window just at his father's back, Malfoy could see that the sky was finally starting to contemplate a storm. As the gray clouds churned in circles lively, a tiny drop of sprinkles fell from the air miserably. How long had he been sitting there? He hadn't even noticed that rain was in question for the day. Then, blinking himself back to reality, he allowed his gaze to meet his father's determined one.

Croakily, he asked, "so soon?" And his father only just nodded, telling him swiftly to get his coat; it was cold out. Lucius' eyes never met with his sons, however, and he seemed to only focus at the looming large doorway that stood only feet in front of him. So, obligingly, Draco rose to his feet, feeling a slight numbness advance upon them. He gathered his dark pea coat, an overused and slightly fading jacket, wrapped it once again around himself, and stood still; a statue waiting for approval to move.

"It was a pleasure meeting you," Ms. Galer said from the doorframe, staring at him as if he'd already been a loss. But Draco didn't answer; his eyes watched his father make for the door stiffly, without bothering to look back. Narcissa followed along after him, stopping at her son's side to brush along a new stray hair from disgracing his pale forehead. "Perhaps I'll see you again sometime in the future," she suggested, directing the question at his parents, of course. Though she didn't receive any answer besides a nod of departure from Narcissa and, defeated, she retreated backwards, deeper into her small little office.

A sinking feeling tortured Draco's insides. Watching his mother straighten out the collar of his coat, he allowed her to stride ahead of him, leaving him standing by the hard seat with a dumbfounded expression. "Goodbye, Draco Malfoy," Ms. Galer said once again, before shutting the door and vanishing form sight completely. Draco turned his throbbing head; his father had left the room and was no where in sight, though Narcissa remained still at the side of the doorframe, a forced smile upon her slender face.

She cleared her throat as if talking were something difficult for her, "come on, Draco, we don't want to get too far behind your father." Then, thrusting out her hand, she waited for her son to come towards her. And he did with a stagger, feeling more confused and lost than he had in a long while. What he didn't do, however, was bother to take her hand. Instead he floated by her delicately, still staring ahead of himself at nothing really in particular.

And as the group of three descended down the short stairs back into the streets of the almost deserted village, Draco watch his mother once again surpass him. Her lips moved as she turned to her husband, but he couldn't quite make out what it was that she was saying to him. So he remained in the back, watching the building sink back behind him. Despite himself, he was wondering whether or not the voice on the other end of the radio was anywhere near it and, furthermore, he prayed desperately for it.

Perhaps truly he'd underestimated the entire day altogether.

Vonne: REVIEW! (: