Harry got a cold from being in the icy bathroom for so long. He was given some medicine – real Muggle medicine – and put under a heating blanket in a bed in the doctor's office. Marty came by as he was getting set up and asked him if he didn't want to stay in there, but it was fine with him if he did.
She sat down in a chair by the bed, and that's where she was now ten minutes later. It was just the two of them – the doctor seemed to have gotten Marty's silent request to be left alone.
"You need to talk to me now, Harry," she said sternly. "This incident isn't the first time you've not slept in your dorm room, but it's the first time you've put yourself in danger here at Smeltings."
"I didn't mean to put myself in danger."
"Didn't you? You slept on a toilet in an icy bathroom stall all night! There was a very real chance you might not have woken up from that. You understand that, right?"
Harry chose not to respond. He knew where this was going: Marty was going to try compassion on him to open him up, and then she was going to bring up a sore subject, and then Harry was going to leave the room. It was a game they played, but it wasn't any fun on Harry's side. He hated when she started to get too close. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to someone, but he just didn't know about her; he didn't trust her. She might be a good therapist, but she might also be a good liar. He just didn't know.
Marty continued, more compassionately now, as expected.
"Your dorm mate told me you suffer from nightmares. Why didn't you ever bring this up in our therapy sessions?"
"For the same reason I don't want to bring it up now."
"Well, this isn't our usual therapy session. You have to talk now, Harry, because if you don't, I'm going to have to write in your permanent record that you're refusing your therapy, and then you're going to have to leave Smeltings."
"I don't like it here, anyway…" Not wholly true. If Harry was kicked out he'd never forgive himself. He'd rather leave on his own accord.
Marty sighed in frustration and worry. Harry wondered if she thought he didn't care about much of anything either, just like Kenny. "What don't you like about it, son?"
"It's not my home. Hogwarts – Smeltings – is my home. I want to go back there."
Marty didn't seem to be bothered by the stray word he'd said. She thought it was an expletive.
"You're going to have to tell me about the night you were raped, Harry. You have to talk about it! I can't let you leave me unless I know you won't try to kill yourself again."
"I didn't try to kill myself!" Harry said loudly, shocked that she would say that and cringing at the thought of it.
"You didn't take a razor to your wrists, but you have very little respect for your own life."
Harry shook his head, at a loss for how to convince her to be on his side – or even just how to make her back off. "If I don't, it's only because it doesn't feel like my life anymore."
Marty nodded with encouragement. "Good, Harry. Good. Start there. Tell me about your life before. Tell me about you."
"I can't do that…"
"Why not?"
"Because…" Harry said, tears of weakness and regrets beginning to fall out of his big green eyes. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, because they were getting so close to the secrets he tried to keep. "…I don't trust you."
"You don't? Why not?" She was sorry he felt that way.
"You know why…"
And Marty nodded, because maybe she did know why, or maybe she just thought she did. "Because the last person you trusted – broke that trust."
Harry nodded, because that was close enough to the truth for him to agree. He wiped his tears off his face and sniffed.
"Have I done anything to break your trust yet?" Marty asked quietly.
Harry shook his head. "No, but you might be just pretending to be an ordinary therapist, but you…maybe you're not…maybe you're just pretending to get me to talk. I don't know…I don't trust…"
"Me." Marty whispered, and she shook her head and pressed a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes and taking a moment for herself. Harry waited for her to say something – anything.