"Hello, Dr. Rebecchi," I say politely as I sit down.

   "Hello, Hermione," she smiles at me. I try my hardest not to look disgusted – she looks like she slept with a coat hanger in her mouth. "How was your day?"

  "Fine," I say.

   "Excellent." She takes out her little pink notebook, and poises the pen over the paper. "I would to get to know you better today, Hermione. I would like you to tell me about your friends."

   I raise my eyebrows. "My friends?"

   She nods. Well, she sort of bows her head which makes me feel very Queen-ish. I decide to tell her. "I have three very close friends," I begin, saying it very slowly so she can't possibly miss anything. "Ginny, Ron and Harry, I known Harry and Ron since I was eleven and I've known Ginny since I was twelve."

   "How did you meet them?" Dr. Hanger Face asks me.

   "School," I say as if it were the obvious answer. Because to me it was – I couldn't imagine meeting any of them outside of Hogwarts.

   "Right … that boarding school?" says Dr. Drooling Currently. "What was the name of your school?"

   I stare at her. "I thought we were talking about my friends."

   "We are," she said, "but since you met them at school …"

   I nod at her, my mouth suddenly feeling dry. "School For Emerging Lesbians," I blurt out. I really need to learn how to keep my mouth shut.

   Dr. Looking at Me As If I'm Chicken's eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

   "Well, of course," I say, my mouth running of its own accord at the moment. "I can't say that all the time. So, I shorten it down to S.F.E.L."

   "Sfel?" she asks.

   "No," I sigh dramatically, "S.F.E.L."

   "Right," says Dr. Possibly Number One EastEnders Fan. She composes herself. "You met two male friends at a lesbian school?"

   "Harry and Ron – male?" I laugh as if it's the funniest thing Britney Spears' attempt at acting. "No. No. They like to have masculine names, you know. Harriet and … Ronelda are their real names."

   "Ronelda?" she repeats. "That's an interesting name."

   "Yeah … I agree. His mum got it from The Slightly Smaller Book For People Who Can't Be Bothered Reading Five-Hundred Pages," I tell her.

   Dr. Not Believing a Word of My Bullshit 'hmm's' and writes down something in her notebook I suspect is liar. "I understand you are not a lesbian, Hermione," she says. "Nor your friend, Ginny."

   "Oh, yeah," I say, "we actually went to our lessons … but sadly Harriet and Ronelda skipped one too many lessons …" I wipe my eyes, as if this is very emotional for me to say. It's not.

   "Hermione Granger, how old are you?" asks Dr. I'm Feeling Isn't Feeling The Love Vibe Here.

   "Twenty-four," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

   "Well, Twenty-Four, I'm Forty-Two. Welcome to the wonderful world of adulthood." She smirks.

   I realise she's been smart with me, the uptight, horny bitch. I do admire her though; I mean how many people can give you a satisfactory smirk after admitting they were born in the sixties?

   "You're old," I note. Dr. Smirk-A-Lot's smirk is wiped off her face. I grin at her. I'm winning.

   "I'm wise," Dr. Can't Be Fucked Giving Her a Name says. "I'm older and wiser."

   I snort. Well, I don't really mean to, but it kind of comes out. I might as well have stuck my fingers up my arse, twirled them around, held in front of her face and said, "Smell my fingers," at the face she was pulling. It reminded strongly of a very rich woman who looked like she had a load of shit under her nose. I do feel sorry for them sometimes – you really do never where their nose has just been.

   "Hermione, I feel you are too immature to attend these sessions. I'm going to recommend you to Dr. Malfoy –,"

   "What?"

   "Dr. Malfoy," she says, "I know he sounds a tab overbearing but he really is a fantastic therapist."

   The horror of Draco Malfoy learning all about the wonder of mwah has finally settled as I realise something: he's a therapist. He's in a Muggle profession. His dad probably died of shock when he heard. And this isn't an overnight thing. He must have spent years at Muggle universities. And not a single person in the wizarding world knows – except me. This is absolutely fanbloodytastic.

   I stand up. "Well, Dr. Who Has Been Absolutely No Fucking Help Whatsoever, I'm glad we met. This shows me where to go when I want a substitute for a good kick in the rear. Toodles." I waltz out the room, grinning from ear to ear. That would be the last time I would see her sorry arse … oh, shit – hang on.

   "Forgot my handbag," I mutter as I enter her office again.

   "I know," she says quietly.

   I waltz out the room for the second time, hoping more than anything else that Malfoy has a fluffy, pink notebook.