Hi everyone! I am back, finally! I think its been six years since I wrote anything for fanfiction. I want to keep writing, but its an exercise in practice and improvement, and continuity, so let's see how it goes. Please don't forget to leave a review, it means a lot to me! Constructive criticism, as always, is appreciated.

PS: I don't know own any of the characters or creations from the Harry Potter Universe.

I always knew I would end up in therapy someday, but not like this. Mom used to say I was always as stubborn as a mule, and once I stuck on something, nothing could change my mind, but somehow, this time, I want to be proven wrong.

Wait, wait, wait. You have no context.

*record scratch* *freeze frame*

So, this story doesn't exactly start in therapy. It would be so boring if it did. All the 'How does it make you feel' and 'I am going to leave you with an exercise today' would just tip it into Binn lecture territory. This story starts with a party. As all early 20th-century anecdotes do.

20th January 2024 - Hermione

I love parties. They are a bit overwhelming, sure. But you see, every party has these pockets of calm that you can slide into. In the living room, the kitchen, a bedroom. People might be dancing, but there are also others sitting in a corner, discussing the state of the world, politics, and all that crap. And I love that space. It's fun to watch people argue while drunk off their asses, making points that they would never logically make in an actual debate. I guess I just like watching people making fools of themselves. Especially ones that were otherwise some of the most stuck-up people I have ever known. It doesn't really align with all the morality everyone says I carry within me, but what others don't know, doesn't hurt them.

Hannah's party always has a congregation of those. She likes making friends with some of the partying types at work, always imprinting on the 'classy' ones. And I guess it helps that she is extremely affable. I have never seen a group of people reject Hanna when she wants to get in. Every bouncer in the city is her friend.

So, I was at one of these corners, and the conversation was just getting started. I think somebody had just gone on one of those true-crime rants. About how serial killers would never have existed if everybody had been accepting of mental illnesses and whatnot. What bullcrap. I generally avoid getting into arguments, but something just felt different. It was this itch to fight. To prove something, but what?

"I think therapy sucks." I can't believe I said that. God, I am going to get burned at the stake for this.

Everything fell silent. The party raged on behind us, but I could already feel the suffocating silence seeping through everyone there. Harry and Ron, friends that had known me through the four years of college, stared at me weirdly, as if they had never thought I would express an opinion, ever. I guess that just bolstered my resolve to prove everyone wrong.

"I think therapy is quite pointless. It doesn't always work; it takes so much time and is super expensive. Moreover, psychology is a soft science, and you can't exactly sue the hospital if your therapist ends up screwing you over more than you were in the first place."

"That is….an opinion."

I looked to my right. That's when the first domino tipped.

He looked quiet, like some of those people they just have that face, y'know? Like they had probably never raised their voice at anything in their life, but had mocked and judged plenty. He had this frown on his head, a little wrinkling in his eyebrows like he couldn't calculate why I had even said that. I didn't really focus on anything else. That frown mocked me like he knew that everyone was judging me. And he was wondering why I had just invited that on myself. It frustrated me, not knowing the answer to the question that frown posed. I turned back to face the centre of our circle, but he wasn't done.

"It's not a great opinion, but I mean you didn't back out of saying it so that's admirable."

Was he being condescending to me? The jerk. I turned back, my retort burning the tip of my tongue.

"Don't coddle me. And why would I back out? I am not wrong, am I? I just think people are too afraid to come out and say exactly what they think nowadays, and one of those things is how they think therapy is useless, just because it is not politically correct."

He snorted, "I am not coddling you; I can see that it's the last thing you would want. And you are wrong, I don't think that is disputed. Therapy is yes, expensive, for...some people. But it is also transformative, it's healing to people who need it. And a lot of people do. Everybody in the world has suffered a mental illness, and for most, therapy does heal them a lot. Most rich arseholes have a therapist that they go to, I know friends who have tried therapy many a time too."

I interjected.

"I get that, but your proof betrays your opinion. Celebrities get to have continual therapy because they have the money to afford it. Psychotherapy is elitist, and you can't change my mind about that."

"I bet I could if you accompanied me to a session."

I think everyone there was startled by that. Such a weird proposition. It was intriguing as hell, but who would just invite you to join their therapy session? There was a weird tension in the air. Everybody could sense the challenge. Would I back out? I didn't know. On one hand, I wasn't a coward, and I believed in what I had said. But this was a stranger. I had no idea who he was, and he had just asked me to accompany him to his very private therapy session.

You know those moments in life, that felt like you were standing on the edge of a building? Your sneakers are creased from tiptoeing against the teetering edge. And you could fall at any time, but there's a building right next to yours that just needs a jump larger than a fall. And you don't know parkour, but moonlight's falling across their face, and their outstretched hand is the challenge you never knew you would face in life. Would you take it? Would I take it?

Before I could say something, he blurted, "If you are worried about getting caught or attending a session with me, I have a better plan."

He wasn't really giving me much of a choice now, was he? Everybody knew that was the only excuse I could make, other than the fact that he was a complete stranger.

"I don't know you," I stated matter-of-factly, hoping the conversation would end there.

Harry, bless his soul, took this moment to interrupt.

"So, Hermione, this is Draco. Draco Malfoy. He's Hannah's friend from university, he has just moved to London for his new job, right?"

He, Draco, just nodded, a small smirk gracing his lips. So, he could feel it too, the tension. And Harry's attempts to diffuse it. I finally let myself smile. I didn't like him one bit, but it was no reason to be a party pooper. If Hannah got to know I had messed with the 'vibe' of her party, she would kill me.

"And Malfoy, this is Hermione. She's my friend from university too, and she works with Hannah."

"Nice to meet you Hermione." His hand stretched out to shake mine. No sparks, don't worry. This isn't that kind of a story. I think. And at that, the breath everyone was holding released. The circle visibly calmed, and everyone dissipated, talking about other stuff, and quieting down to sip their drinks in peace.

I sipped mine too, at times stealing peeks at him, just trying to figure out if he remembered his challenge. He wasn't serious, right? Or he would have still pressed. It didn't matter to be very honest. The proposition had left me very curious. And he hadn't completed what he had to say. I wanted to, no, needed to know.

I think an hour passed, and an hour after that, when everyone started integrating themselves into other parts of the party, gravitating to the energy that resonated with them. Malfoy, I saw, slunk away to the kitchen. This was the perfect moment, wasn't it? My stomach, weirdly enough, was in knots, and my legs felt a little bit like lead. But they worked. So, I followed him.

"Hey."

His head whipped out of the fridge with a sheepish smile. I guess he wanted to nick something to eat.

"Hannah usually keeps some shortbread in the cabinet behind you. There are some crisps there too if you are looking for that."

"Thanks, I was famished. I think she forgot to get takeaway."

"Ahh, yeah this is common for her, we generally end up ordering for ourselves, and after the twentieth order, the guards come up and end the party."

He snickered at that.

"That sounds like her. But what about you?"

"What about me?" I trod carefully, not wanting to divulge anything till it was absolutely necessary.

"Who are you? And why are you…like that?"

"First of all, rude. Why am I like that? Presumptuous much? And second of all, I am Hermione Granger. As Harry said, I work with Hannah. That's all."

"I'm sorry, that definitely came out wrong. And second of all, that wasn't really an answer. You are quite defensive. You protect yourself to this extent with anyone new?"

"Did your therapist teach you that?"

Ah, this conversation was definitely devolving, but could we really avoid it? Something about him made me defensive. His voice, how calm he was, it felt like if I gave him even a bit more information than I needed to, he would see right through me.

"Now that was rude."

"Sorry." I shrugged sheepishly.

He sat on the kitchen counter, playing with a pack of biscuits in his hand. We stayed there, in that weirdly comfortable silence till he broke it.

"I was serious, you know."

I knew it! But I couldn't let him know how I was wondering about the same stuff, so I had to play dumb.

"Serious about what?"

"About the therapy thing. You should come with me and see for yourself."

"If you think I am sitting in on a private therapy session, I most definitely am not."

"No, no, not something like that. Something that you got to experience too."

"You want me to go to therapy by myself?"

He laughed.

"Definitely not! You'd hate every minute of it, and it would just convince you that you were right, and you'd give up after a single session."

I should have been offended, but he wasn't exactly wrong. See? I told you, pieces of information, and you're transparent now.

"Okay then, what do you propose?"

He took a deep breath. Oooh, this was going to be big.

"Couple's therapy."

What? What? Did I hear that right? 'Couple's therapy?' Oh god, is he a creep?

"Um, considering the fact that we don't know each other, and will never date each other, definitely not."

"No, we won't be a couple, obviously. I mean, in real life. But to the therapist, we will."

"Okay, you are really bad at explaining stuff, you do know that right?"

He jumped off the counter, his nervousness rolling off him in waves.

"Okay, so, let's be a fake couple. We could act it in front of our friends, or to make it easier, we just pretend to be a couple in front of a couple's therapist and see how fast they figure out if we are dating or faking it."

"So, this is a measure of the therapist's competence?"

"Yeah, and if they don't figure it out, you win. And if they do, I win."

"And what do I win?"

"I don't know, you choose. I have something in mind for what I want you to do when I win, but I am not telling you right now. Don't worry it is not humiliating or degrading in any way."

That crooked smirk was back. And so was the teetering feeling. The hand was clearer now. Would I take it?

I smirked back.

"You're on. And I'll tell you what I want if I win. I want you to get on the table at the next party we are at together, introduce yourself to everyone there, and then proclaim that I am the most intelligent woman you have ever met, and therapy is complete bullshit."

"Done."

The dominos continued cascading around us.