Harry started to cry, harder than he ever let himself cry before because he was just so miserable and alone. Marty soothed him and rubbed his back, and Harry didn't stop her, because her comfort was the only thing letting him hang on to what little control he had.
"I think I understand you now, Harry," she said gently, "and I think you're very brave to have come this far. But now you need to go the rest of the way. You need to trust again."
"How can I – do that," Harry said between sobs, "when I – couldn't trust my – best friend?"
"He wasn't your best friend if he betrayed you, Harry. And the only thing that I think you can do is forgive him."
"Why?" Harry pushed her away so he could see her face, and it was sincere.
"I truly believe this, Harry. I've seen people come through years of abuse only because they forgave their abusers. It's awful…and a little twisted. You think you can't trust me, Harry? Well, imagine going through the rest of your life not trusting another living soul."
Harry tried to fathom that, but he just couldn't, because he wanted to trust the people he loved again. He wanted to see Hagrid and Hermione and – yes – Ron. He missed his best friend, and he hated mistrusting him. It wasn't Ron's fault – Ron wasn't the one with the Slytherin Prefect badge – but it was just so natural to hate the person with the face he knew had hurt him.
"I know who I really had sex with," he whispered.
"Was he your friend?" Marty asked, just as quietly.
Harry shook his head. "I hated him from the first day we met, and he hated me the same."
Marty put both her hands on his head and smoothed down his hair, like a mother would do to sooth her child. "Sometimes the person you hate the worst is the only one who could possibly understand you. When you had sex with him…was it forced? Did he force himself on you?"
Harry swallowed hard and shook his head. "I kissed him first. He asked me to, but I kissed him first. He came onto the bed and got on top of me, and we just kissed at first, but then he asked to go all the way, and I wanted to…"
Harry nervously swallowed and his shoulders shook. All this trouble and he might have just faced the facts that it was never any mystery who or why Draco Malfoy slept with him. He couldn't stop describing it now, though. It was like he needed to face the memory.
"He had this stuff he put on himself, and he was really careful, and it felt like – electricity – the whole time. When it was over…when we were done…I saw that his pants were too short."
Marty shook her head, confused. "What do short pants have to do with your friend?"
"My friend doesn't have pants that short. Or shoes like that. Or a shirt like he had. And when I realized that it wasn't him, he didn't deny it."
Marty was still shaking her head, "I don't understand this, Harry. You saw his face, didn't you?"
Harry smiled, but it was only because he didn't know how else to react; he was nearly laughing when he said, "I did, but it wasn't really his face."
Marty sat back and took a deep breath.
"Harry, do you know what…post traumatic stress disorder is?" Harry shook his head, still smiling but also cringing, because the situation was getting funnier by the minute; he was beginning to think that Marty really was a Muggle, and she was beginning to think he was totally mental. "It's when you go through some sort of trauma, and afterwards you have horrible nightmares – like the ones Kenny's said you've been having – and you might become paranoid – not trust anyone – even your best friend – anymore."
Though this bit of news sounded somewhat like him, he was pretty sure he hadn't imagined Hogwarts or Lord Voldemort. If he had imagined all of that, then he was pretty sure a place like Smeltings would have kicked him out by now.
He stopped smiling, though, because at last his mind was actually beginning to go in some semblance of the right direction since his night in the hospital wing.
"You might even mistake someone standing right in front of you as a completely – different – person."
"So…I could have been having sex with a friend?"
"Maybe…or maybe who you considered your friend was actually your enemy, like you said. And maybe you connected with him like you do with your friend."
"But it really wasn't."
"Was he, Harry? Was he your best friend?"
Harry shook his head solemnly. "No. Definitely not."
Harry and Marty might have both been more enthusiastic about this breakthrough of Harry suddenly beginning to talk about his trauma, but it didn't really seem to change anything at the moment. Harry was still shivering on a bed in Smeltings, and she was worrying that there was something more deeply broken in his mind than she previously thought. It was like an unspoken agreement that they were just going to sit there and wait, and hope that things turned out for the better in the end.