So... Tell Me About Your Childhood

So... Tell Me About Your Childhood

I am not crazy! I know... only crazy people say that, but I'm not! Just because I threw a bit of a temper tantrum at work they're making me got to a therapist. How absurd! I am a Malfoy. I do not need some crackpot trying to psychoanalyze me. My life is my own and no one tells me what to do... except my father -who's dead now- and my mother -also dead-. So now I listen to only myself. Except my boss said if I didn't go to a therapist I'd lose my job. Lousy bastard!

So, here I am at the office of... no bloody way! It can't be! Ginevra M. Weasley... Ginny Weasley... Weasel's little sister?! Oh, they must be joking. I won't set foot in that office. I refuse to! The door opens magically and a soft, feminine voice says, "Come in". Oh no, I don't think so. Ginny Weasley, my therapist? I'd never hear the end of it.

"No thank you."

"If you don't you lose your job. It's your choice, Malfoy." Her voice is cold and hard now, making me shudder. Looks like she'd channeling a bit of Granger there. Guess Weasel's Mudblood wife wore off on her.

"I will not have you as my therapist!"

"Oh?" She sounds amused now, and I'd bet anything she's smirking.

"Find me someone else!" I demand.

"Malfoy, no one else wants you. I don't know if you've noticed or not but no one likes you. Now, either come in or leave. I don't care one way or the other."

I paced back and forth outside the office. Go in and be humiliated. Don't go in and lose my job. Damn it all to hell! I resignedly shuffle into the office and set eyes on Ginny Weasley for the first time in nine years. Well... if she wasn't a Weasley I might consider shagging her. Her vibrant read hair fell just to her shoulders and her brown eyes shone bright behind her chic reading glasses. She was in Muggle clothing. Ew! And I noticed the not so subtle curves beneath her blouse.

"If you're done ogling me, you can take a seat."

I quickly bring my gaze up to her face, not able to stop the blush that creeps into my cheeks.

"Now... Mr. Malfoy-"

"Call me Draco"

"Mr. Malfoy," she began again, "I see here that you had an altercation at the Ministry."

"The Mudblood was talking nonsense-"

"I'd prefer it if you did not use such vulgar terms when in my presence."

"Fine, if you're going to be such a namby-pamby about it. The other man shot off his mouth and I simply set him right.

"It says here you punched him, kicked him, and then used Transfiguration spell to turn him into a chicken. I'd call that a little more that just 'setting him right'. When another co-worker stepped in you started to rant about your purity of blood and so on and so forth. That aforementioned co-worker had to transfigure your victim back to his original state because you refused to."

"Correct."

"And you don't see why they've sent you to me?"

"Not at all."

"Hmpfh," she snorted, as if this didn't surprise her.

"You would have done the same thing."

"No, I wouldn't have. And that's why I'm the therapist and you're the patient."

"Listen, Doc, can't you just stamp my papers and send me on my way? I'm not crazy and I don't need a therapist."

"Of course you don't. People assault their co-workers and transfigure them every day. Hell, I should applaud you. Is that what you're telling me?"

"I just turned him into a bloody chicken! It's not like I blew him up!"

"No... then you'd be in Azkaban if you did that."

"But instead I'm here, one step away from a straightjacket and padded walls!"

"You're certainly not disproving your boss's claims."

"What do I have to do, beg? I'll beg if you want. I won't like it, but I'll do it if it'll get me out of this place."

"I do not want you to beg. Lord, Mr. Malfoy, you are tiresome. All I want is a decent explanation as to why you went mental in your office."

"If you expect me to lay on that sofa thingy and start off with the sentence, 'well, it all started when I was a little boy', then you'll be waiting till hell freezes over."

Ginny gives me a stern look- a look only women have ever seemed to perfect- and I slink over to the sofa. She takes a seat across from me and conjures a quill and parchment. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips but she remains professional.

"So... tell me about your childhood."

I narrow my eyes at her, but she simply nods her head from me to continue. I let out a sigh, clasping my hands over my chest and closing my eyes.

"Well, it all started when I was a little boy..."

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