Of Magazines and Squashy Chairs
Summary: Remus Lupin visits his psychologist. Slash and Spoiler warning.
A man entered the small waiting room, shaking his umbrella. It was an unbelievably cold and rainy day for July. The people who normally came in t-shirts were now in raincoats and sweaters, all hunched, sniffing in there squashy chairs, trying to stay away from the roaring air-conditioning that had been left on. The man shook the raindrops out of his soft brown hair, brushed them off his jacket, and took a seat next to a old woman who was mumbling to herself.
He scanned the semi-empty waiting room. An iron coat hanger was the only decoration in the room. A small, cheap-looking table held a few magazines, which, he noticed, were several years old. The lady at the desk was talking away fervently to her boyfriend. There was one door to the left that seemed so gray and ominous. A lopsided sign read, Dr. Treneski, Psychologist.
Within seconds a woman came out of the door clutching a tissue box, and there Dr. Treneski stood, in all her muggle glory, standing erect. "Lupin, Remus," she said into the room, square glasses poised on her nose.
The man stood shyly. Faint recognition outlined the doctor's emotionless face. "Ah, Mr. Lupin. How…er… nice it is to see you again…" Apparently she remembered the last time he was here. He could practically smell the apprehension. "Come in, please, and sit down."
He obeyed. He laid on the couch in the all-too-familiar setting.
The doctor sat, unsteadily in her armchair next to him and let out a slow sigh. "If this about your lycanthropy, then I must insist for the final time: Werewolves don't exist." She said flatly.
Remus lifted the back of his hand to his forehead. "No, doctor, this isn't about my lycanthropy," He said softy, regretting ever mentioning that fact.
"Oh," she said relieved, "I apologize."
Remus swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "My best friend, who I've known since I was eleven… he… he…"
"Yes?"
"He's gone."
"I see," the doctor scribbled something on her clipboard.
"I think I'm fine, but my friend's think I'm clinically depressed."
"What do you think?"
"I'm here to prove them wrong."
Dr. Treneski folded her legs and looked at him reprovingly. "Mr. Lupin, most of the time people become depressed because they are hiding strong emotions. Emotions that can sometimes be painful. But these emotions are necessary for growth."
"I'm not hiding anything."
"Have you had any time for mourning, a funeral? A wake?"
"No, he had no funeral."
She raise an eyebrow. "He didn't? Why not?"
"He couldn't afford one."
"What about the body?"
"Hmm?"
"I said: what about the body?"
Remus coughed loudly. "There was no body, he died in a fire."
She resumed writing in her clipboard; he shifted nervously. "So you haven't really had a time for mourning, have you?"
"Yes I have. I've been crying for a week."
"Well, sometimes crying isn't enough. You need to come to terms with his death, reflect on times together, and accept that it was his time to go."
A fire was growing in his chest. "I'm trying," he said in a low growl.
"Why don't you tell me about this person, your favorite qualities about him, how much time you shared together…?"
Remus Lupin took a low, deep breath, "His name was Sirius Black, and I loved him very much…"