Draco Malfoy walked down the long hall leading to his new physiologist's room. Although at first his stubborn side had convinced him
that his mind body and soul were still intact, his mother and best bud Blaise Zambini had managed to convince him that there was
indeed, a very troubled person inhabiting his 5'11", muscular, tan and all around handsome body.
Throughout his life Draco had been plagued by an abusive father, a ghastly reputation of being a complete ass, and of course, his
family's affiliation with Voldemort. He had never supported his father's "out of work occupation"; violence and death weren't really his
forte or passion. He had always had so many dreams and goals, passions that were crushed by the cruelty and despair of the life he had
been born into.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath, "I really do need help."
He shook his head automatically, not trying to disagree with his comment, but to convince himself that therapy was not necessarily going
to be a bad thing. Shaking his long silky silver blonde hair out of his face, he walked slowly to the door he had been gradually nearing.
Knocking timidly, he heard a feminine voice say, "come on in." Draco cautiously opened the door, and looking at the body in the large
squishy armchair, his mouth dropped.
It was Hermione Granger-
His biggest problem was sitting right there, across from him in lavender silk robes, idly chewing on a sugar quill, and staring at him with
huge, disbelieving amber eyes.
And he, for once in his life, had absolutely nothing to say.
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