Unaffected

Draco stared at her in surprised silence for a moment, not really knowing what was expected of him. He'd never really been to a counselor before (unless he had to count the career counseling he'd gotten from Snape in fifth year at Hogwarts). When she lifted her eyebrows at him, he cleared his throat perfunctorily.

"What do you want to know?"

"I don't want to know anything, Mr. Malfoy. I am here to listen and help, if I can. Tell me only what you feel comfortable with."

"Well, first off, let's get one thing straight," he said, holding up a hand. "My name is Draco. I'd appreciate it if you'd quit calling me Mr. Malfoy - you make it sound as though I'm walking around with a cane." She gave him a small smile, which he tried to reciprocate. It came out as more of a pained smirk.

"Alright then, Draco," she said, the name sliding from her lips as though she used it in everyday conversation, and not as though he'd been one of her husband's worst enemies in school. "Is there anything in particular that you wanted to discuss?"

"What do other people talk about when you see them?" he asked curiously. She sat her quill down, suddenly realizing that it was going to take a bit for him to warm up to their session.

"Well, most people come in and tell me things that they're having problems coping with. Perhaps loss of a loved one, or a particularly bad fight with a spouse or significant other. Lots of people come in and just tell me how their day has been."

"And you can sit through their drivel?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. She didn't answer, just regarded him steadily from across her desk. He felt a tingle begin in his chest; this was a challenge to him. He hadn't met anyone whose buttons he couldn't push yet - and he was intent on finding out what made Ginny Weasley - Potter, he corrected himself mentally - tick. "Honestly, are you that bored? You must be completely lacking of a social life."

"If you've only come to discuss my social life, or lack thereof, as you so eloquently put it," she said sweetly. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to cut our session short. I have other duties to fulfill." She began to put her quill away, but he held up a hand in defeat.

"Alright, I'll be good," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. She very nearly laughed, although Draco wasn't familiar enough with her expressions to have caught her fleeting look of amusement.

"Well, then. Where would you like to begin?" The quill was back out and poised above a piece of parchment. He eyed it nervously; if he told her something and she wrote it down, countless people could get to it and exploit him for it. She seemed to know what he was thinking, and put the quill down. "If this makes you nervous, I won't take notes." His eyes flew to hers in surprise.

"Good," he drawled softly. He had wanted to say 'Thank You,' but somehow it just hadn't come out the way he'd meant it to. He ran a nervous hand through his platinum hair and groped for something to say. It was strange to have someone listening to him the way he knew she was about to, and he was apprehensive about telling her anything too personal. "I suppose you're waiting for me to spill my guts, aren't you?"

"This is your hour, Draco. You're paying for it, and you may do with it as you wish. I don't expect you to spill your guts to me, unless you feel the need to. Take your time. It's alright to feel uncomfortable with me, you know. After all, I know that it's difficult to entrust a stranger with any personal information." Again, he was surprised. He was floored, actually. He had to give her credit - the woman seemed to be good at her job- so far.

"I'm never uncomfortable," he lied smoothly. She just gave him a knowing smile that infuriated the hell out of him. Alright, I'll show her I'm not uncomfortable. Think, Malfoy, think! Tell her something, anything! "I had a rather bad row with my fiancée yesterday evening." He waited for her to say something, but she only continued to stare noncommittally at him. He took it as a signal to keep talking.

"She told me that her cousin had just died, and she wanted me to go to the funeral. I refused - I'm not going to her cousin's funeral! Her cousin married a Mudblood!" he sneered. She didn't protest at his use of the word, which mildly surprised him. "She ranted and raved at me for a solid hour, so I left. When I got back to the manor, she refused to speak to me. She still isn't speaking to me, actually."

"And how does that make you feel?" she asked gently. He stared at her as though she was a werewolf.

"I'm bloody pissed, that's how I feel! Why should I be expected to go to a Mudblood's funeral?"

"Did you ask her that, in those exact words?"

"Yes, I did," he said, feeling the anger swirling around inside his stomach. "So?"

"How did she react when you said that to her?"

"She started crying and screaming, I told you that not five minutes ago," he spat.

"Was she close to her cousin?" Her question caught him off guard, and he frowned.

"I don't know," he shrugged.

"Perhaps she was so upset with you because she was close to her cousin. You might want to ask her about that. It's possible that she didn't think about what she was asking you to do in terms of attending a Muggle-born's funeral," he noted her genteel phrasing. "But maybe instead thought of asking you in terms of being there for her emotional support." The idea made sense to him, and he felt like an idiot. Why hadn't he thought about that?

"Natasha doesn't need my emotional support," he protested. "She's a rock. She never shows any emotion."

"That can't be true," she said gently. "From what you've just told me, she expressed anger and hurt. She yelled and cried, did she not?"

"Oh." His frown grew deeper.

"Sometimes the solution to the problem lies in your ability to be empathetic." He directed his frown at her. "Empathy is the ability to put yourself in someone else's shoes, and see things from their perspective." And boy, do we both know you are seriously lacking in this department!

"I know what empathy is," he snapped.

"I wasn't trying to insinuate that you didn't," she said calmly. She's good, he thought. Better than I'd anticipated.

"So what do you suggest then?" he leaned back in the plush chair and eyed her thoughtfully.

"I would suggest that when you return home and she's calmed down, you two should talk. Ask her if that's why she wanted you to go with her. Maybe you can reach some sort of compromise." She glanced at the enchanted clock on the wall. "I'm sorry, but our time is up." She stood from her chair.

"Already?" he asked, somewhat startled. Had he really been here an hour? He stood and stared at the hand she proffered. "What?"

"Shaking hands, Draco," she said pleasantly. "It's actually a quite common way of saying goodbye."

"I knew that," he snapped. He put his hand in hers for a split second, then yanked it away. She didn't seem fazed.

"I trust you know your way out?" she asked distractedly. She was rifling through her file cabinet, looking for the file for her next patient. He rolled his eyes and stormed out of the office without looking back.

No wonder his mother had recommended her. She'd done wonders with his mother; she really had. It'd been ages since he'd been awoken by his Mother's screams at night; she used to have the most terrible nightmares. He'd seen such a marked change in her that he'd been curious as to how it had all come about. When he'd asked his mother about it, she'd just given him a wan smile and said that she'd never thought that talking to someone could be so therapeutic. That had piqued his curiosity. At his Mother's insistence, he'd come to see her himself.

Now he began to understand why his mother put so much faith in this woman. It had seemed as though when he was talking, she'd been listening, hadn't it? He stopped short when he reached the desk of her secretary, and the tiny woman looked up with obvious fear in her eyes.

"May I help you, Mister Malfoy?" she squeaked.

"Does Potter have any other openings this week?" he inquired smoothly. The witch checked a calendar in front of her and nodded. "How many, and when?"

"She has one tomorrow at the same time you saw her today. Actually, she has this slot open for the rest of the week. She's never very busy in the mornings."

"Pencil me in for every session this week at the same time." She looked surprised, but did as she was told. He swept outside, leaving a very confused secretary staring after him.

"I'm going to the tearoom for my morning tea, Violet," Ginny said, appearing from around the corner. She smiled until she saw the woman's perplexed look. "What's wrong? Are you feeling ill?"

"No, it's not that," she said softly.

"Is everything alright, then?"

"Yes," she said, not making eye contact with Ginny. "Mister Malfoy just booked another session with you." Ginny's eyes widened slightly.

"He did?"

"Actually, he booked four more sessions with you this week." Ginny's mouth dropped open in an unusual display of emotion, and she snatched the appointment book from Violet. She stared at it in disbelief before dropping it unceremoniously back onto the desk. With a dazed look, she turned towards the stairs.

"I might take longer than usual," she said. "I think I'm going to need more than one tea this morning - I need all the strength I can get."

**

"Mummy's home!" Ginny called brightly, brushing the soot off of her uniform. When she was met with silence, she smiled to herself. She went into the kitchen expecting to find her mother, but the room was empty. Bewildered, she began sweeping through the house, looking for anyone. When she hadn't found anyone, she began to worry. She went back down to the kitchen, where she noticed a piece of parchment lying on the table.

Gin,

I'm taking Mum and Lily to Hogsmeade for dinner. You're expected at promptly six thirty, so don't be late! We'll be at our favorite table in the Three Broomsticks.

Love,

Ron

She smiled to herself and checked the time. It was six o'clock, which left her just enough time to shower and change clothes. When she had finished showering, she went to her closet to pick out something to wear. Instead of her clothes, though, her eyes were drawn to Harry's clothes, which still hung in the closet, as though waiting to be worn. She removed a white shirt from the rack and pressed it to her face, closing her eyes to breathe in the scent of him better. Even after two years, his clothes still smelled like him. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she replaced the shirt, not wanting to muss it up.

It wasn't healthy, and it wasn't right. She knew it as well as the next person. But she couldn't let him go so quickly. She'd loved him for so long that it was difficult to separate her love for him from anything else in her life. It was like a second nature to her. She moved her eyes towards her half of the closet and reached for her favorite black shirt. Harry had always loved it on her; she'd worn it every time they'd ever gone out to dinner together after Lily's birth. It was a very snug shirt that showed off all of her curves, and the neck was scooped, revealing the tiniest bit of cleavage. She smiled and slipped it on as she remembered Harry telling her, with that mischievous twinkle in his eyes, that she was a walking felony in that shirt.

She pulled on a pair of green, low-waisted pants, and was surprised at how well they fit. She remembered getting them from Harry for her birthday the first year they'd been married. He used to come up behind her when she wore them, and slide his broad hands around the patch of exposed skin at her navel... she shook her head, trying to snap out of her reverie.

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live," she quipped to no one in particular. She grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, not wanting to get her outfit sooty in the floo. When she got to the Three Broomsticks, she removed it and slung it over her arm. She turned to head towards her usual table, but wound up colliding with someone instead. The man shot out a hand to prevent her from falling, and she looked up into her savior's grey eyes. Grey eyes? Oh, no...

"Well, well," he drawled softly, as she yanked her arm away from his grasp. He eyed her appreciatively. Potter had better taste than I thought. She didn't look like she'd had a baby - she was so thin, he wondered if perhaps she might have adopted her child. Then again, her husband had died, he reasoned - and half of her family. That could cause weight loss even in the case of a cow like Millicent Bulstrode. He blinked in surprise at himself - why was he explaining away her fabulous body? "Can't stay away from me, can you, Weasley?"

"It's Potter," she said automatically. He bristled slightly at the name. Even dead, Harry managed to irk him. "Thanks for helping me." She turned her back to him and began walking in the other direction. He watched her thoughtfully as she approached a table where three other redheads sat, and blinked. The child that was sitting next to her was definitely Potter's. The eyes were a dead giveaway. Where else could Draco have seen that exact shade of green?

"Draco," a voice purred. He turned to look at Natasha, standing there in all of her peroxided glory, and wondered why he suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. "Are you coming back to the table? You said you were just going to get our drinks, and..." her voice trailed off as his eyes drifted back towards Ginny's table. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he said coldly, brushing her hand off of his arm. It wouldn't do to let her drape all over him like this in public. He turned and headed back to their table, forgetting that he'd been getting their drinks.

**

"Miss me?" an arrogant voice drawled. She sat down behind her desk and placed her cup of tea on a small, woven coaster. She hung her cloak up on the coat hook and sat down in front of him, then gave him a small professional smile.

"I must admit, I'm a little surprised that you've booked so many sessions," she said, stirring two cubes of sugar into her tea. She popped open a small container of milk and poured it in, then tossed the trash into her wastebasket.

"And why is that?" he asked, sounding bored.

"It's just unusual - unless someone has been through a traumatic experience, I mean," she said, placing her spoon delicately on the small plate that her teacup rested on. She looked up. "I'm sorry, how rude of me. Would you like something to drink? Tea, perhaps, or coffee?" He looked startled by the offer. "I won't poison it, I promise. At least, not this time." He stared at her for a moment, then cracked a grin.

"Well, when you put it that way, I'd be delighted. Coffee actually sounds good right now." She bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn't expected him to be pleased with her offer, or to accept it. She picked her wand up off of her desk and waved it slightly, muttering something, and a small, silver mug appeared. Draco was impressed. He picked it up and sniffed it, then lifted his eyes to her in utter surprise.

"How do you know how I take my coffee?" He took a sip, and a glimmer of a smile painted her features momentarily.

"I believe you'll find that I'm more observant than most people are comfortable with." She sipped her tea leisurely, and he wondered just how much he'd underestimated her. "Would you like to begin?"

"Oh, yeah," he said, nodding. He'd almost forgotten that he'd come there with a purpose.

"Did you talk to her?"

"Yes."

"How did it go?"

"You were right," he said grudgingly. He'd expected her to gloat, or at least crack a smile, but she didn't. Instead she just sat there, sipping her tea, and remaining silent. "She said she just wanted me to go as sort of a shoulder to cry on thing."

"So I take it you two have worked things out, then?" he nodded slightly. "That's excellent. Open communication is extremely important in a relationship. You've just taken the first step towards a healthy marriage." He almost choked on his coffee, and she gave him a curious look. "Are you alright?"

"I can't believe I'm about to tell you this," he said, looking very freaked out. "But I don't really want to get married."

"I'm confused, then," she said, frowning slightly. "Why are you engaged if you don't want to be married?"

"My mother wants to see Grandchildren before she dies, and I was so afraid last year that she was going to, that I proposed to Natasha without really thinking it through." Ginny did some quick calculations in her head and guessed that Narcissa had begun coming to see her around the time Draco was talking about.

"Well, now she's quite alright," she said, wrapping her slender fingers around the teacup, and savoring its warmth. Thanks to you, he thought. He surprised himself - what made him think that she was the reason his mother was better? "And you're sure you still don't want to get married?"

"Never been more sure of anything in my entire life," he asserted, sitting his empty coffee mug on her desk. It refilled instantly, and he was vaguely impressed. She knew how to treat her guests, didn't she?

"Have you spoken to Natasha about this?"

"Have you finished taking the mickey?" he asked disbelievingly. Her face broke into a wide grin, which startled him. He'd been around her for three days now, and he had already gotten used to her professional, polite manner. A show of emotion was a surprise, although he had to admit this was a welcome one. Her smile lit up the entire room. "What's so funny about that?"

"I'm sorry," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Someone else said something similar to me recently. Go ahead." The smile disappeared behind the mask of professionalism again, and he was shaken by how disappointed he suddenly felt.

"You're cracked if you think I'm about to mention feelings to Natasha. It's obvious that you don't know her, or you wouldn't even suggest such a foolish thing."

"Well, you're right, I don't know her," she said, leaning back slightly in her chair. "Help me understand why it is that you feel you can't speak freely with her. She seemed receptive enough when you spoke to her yesterday - or at least, I assume she was, since you worked things out."

"She's about as cold as my father was," he blurted. Her only response was a quick blink. "She was my girlfriend when all of this stuff went down," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "She's loyal."

"You proposed to her out of obligation, then," she said quietly, sitting her teacup down. He shot her a murderous look.

"And? Like no one in history has ever done that before?"

"I didn't say that. I wasn't trying to downplay your reasons, either. I was just asking for clarification, that's all. If I'm to help you, I have to understand you first." His angry look faded, and he looked pensive.

"Not everyone marries for love," he said softly. He was not prepared for her reaction. Her shoulders fell slightly, and a wistful look crossed her features. Her eyes looked as though they had filled with tears, but she blinked them back quickly and shook her head slightly.

"I know," she said, giving him a sad smile. For some reason that he couldn't explain, the sight of it twisted his heart into tiny knots. "So you're willing to be bound to this person for the rest of your life, even though you don't love her?"

"I could do worse," he said, shrugging carelessly. She nodded almost imperceptibly, then picked up the refilled teacup. She brought it to her lips and closed her eyes to inhale its scent, then sipped gently before sitting it back down. When she looked back up at him, he was eyeing her with open curiosity.

"Yes?"

"What does it feel like?"

"What does what feel like?"

"Being in love." Her eyes widened slightly, and then she gave him a small laugh.

"Draco, I'm sure you don't want to hear about me and Harry." He didn't flinch at the name, which mildly surprised her.

"You're right, I don't want to hear about him. I want to know what being in love feels like." She considered this for a moment, then decided that it might help him if he knew. Perhaps he did love Natasha, and didn't realize it.

"It's like falling."

"Falling?" He arched an eyebrow.

"You know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you've flown too high, or you fall a good distance, or ride a roller coaster?" he frowned, and she forgot that she'd only known what a roller coaster was because Harry had forced her to ride one. Amazing things Muggles would invent to create the sensation of flying.

"Sort of."

"That's the feeling you get every time you look at someone you love. And it never goes away. Every time you look at that person, you feel like that. And your stomach does little somersaults every time you touch. And you never want to be apart from that person, ever. It's euphoria, all the time." He watched as the pain flickered through her eyes, then left her usual indifference behind.

"I've never felt that way about anyone."

"Perhaps you might, someday," she nodded. "You might even grow to love Natasha, after you're married."

"I doubt it." He eyed her thoughtfully. "Do you still feel that way when you look at his pictures?" Her cheeks flushed slightly pink, and she glanced up at the clock.

"It's that time again, I'm afraid," she said. The tone of her voice told him that she was not at all afraid, or sorry, that their session was over. That was relief that he heard, loud and clear. Saved by the bell, he thought, standing.

"See you tomorrow, then," he said smoothly, disappearing into the hall.