Where Angels Fear

Where Angels Fear

Chapter One: Mental Status

"Do I really have to do this...thing....today?" Draco asked that morning at breakfast.

It was a pro forma question. Snape didn't even glance up from his parchment to say, "Yes."

"I don't want to," he said, whining a little.

"I know." Severus dipped his quill in the inkpot, frowned, picked up his penknife and trimmed the point. Draco wouldn't be getting out of the mental status exam scheduled for that day, no matter how much he complained about it. Sympathizing too much would only make him feel worse before he bowed to the inevitable.

The mental status exam was the last of the loose ends they had to tie up before leaving Hogwarts for Malfoy Manor. Even though the healer had been vetted by Dumbledore himself, Snape considered inviting him back to the Manor an unnecessary risk, as was traveling back to Hogwarts for it. Going to St. Mungo's for it he considered, frankly, suicidal. After the exam, he and Draco would go to the Manor and stay ensconced there until what was already being called the Junior Death Eater trial in mid-July. If everything went as planned.

Snape didn't expect everything to go as planned. In his estimation, very little had gone as planned in the months since Lucius Malfoy's death. Or since Voldemort's re-corporealization two years before, for that matter. Or--well, there was no point trying to remember a time when anything had gone as planned.

"It won't be so bad," he relented. " The Healer will ask you some intrusive questions, you'll answer them, you'll probably be sick at least once, and in an hour or two it'll all be over."

"Yeah." Draco sounded unconvinced.

Of course, it wouldn't really be over. Not until the trial, at very least, and probably not for a long time after that. "And," he drew his trump card from the pack, "We're as sure as it's possible to be that the Healer isn't going to try to kill you."

"That's comforting," Draco said fervently.

#

Draco, waiting beside Snape on one of the sofas in Dumbledore's inner office, was nearly vibrating with tension. Severus and Dumbledore had decided to schedule the mental status exam for a few days after the rest of the students left for the holidays on the theory that the less time he had to get nervous, the better. It was a good plan, but they'd forgotten that Draco didn't need any time at all to work himself into a state. Snape had hoped, when Draco had insisted on leaving the wheelchair in the dungeons and trudging upstairs leaning on Snape's arm on one side, and a cane on the other, that the effort would wear him out enough that he wouldn't have the energy to act up, but that didn't seem to be the case.

The Healer's name was Valerian Malloy. His academic credentials were impeccable--he had trained at St. Mungo's, and then done an advanced degree at the Institute for Magical Medicine in France. Dumbledore was certain he was the best man for the job.

If there was anyone for the job of deciding if Draco was sane or not. Snape scowled. They ought to just take his word for it, really.

"What," Draco said now, "If this...healer person...thinks I've lost my mind?"

"He won't."

"But what if he says I have?"

"Don't worry about it." Now he was worrying about it. The man could have been suborned. Or put under the Imperius curse, even. Maybe he'd insist Draco had to go back to the hospital for some kind of treatment, and on the way there he'd...disappear.

Now he was being foolish. Dumbledore wouldn't let that happen, and neither would he. The only way anyone taking Draco anywhere was if both of them were dead. "If he does," he told Draco, "The Prosecution will try to keep his testimony out of the trial, the Defense will try to get it in, and the resulting legal wrangling will delay the whole thing for months."

"Oh." Draco brightened.

"Now, don't go sticking straws in your hair and gibbering just to put off testifying."

"Okay," Draco said.

They sat in silence for another minute or two, until Dumbledore and the Healer arrived. "Here they are," the Headmaster said cheerfully. "Professor Snape--" Severus rose and half-bowed "--and Draco Malfoy." Draco didn't stand, but just nodded where he was. "And this is Healer Mallory."

The Healer was a small, birdlike man with piercing blue eyes and short-cropped gray hair. His movements were birdlike too, quick and fluttering. Severus decided to loathe him on principle. "Hello, Draco," he said. "Professor." His look at Severus was plainly dismissive.

"He's staying," Draco said flatly.

The Healer hesitated and then said, "I'd prefer to chat with you privately--"

"That's nice for you," Draco interrupted. "He's staying." No, he definitely wasn't too tired to cause trouble.

"There's nothing to be afraid of--"

"It was nice meeting you and I'm sorry you had to come all this way," Draco said very quickly, and very dismissively.

Severus thought he'd played that card far too early. He and Dumbledore would have to back the Healer up--they had no choice, really--and it would be very clear that Draco didn't have the authority to end this interview.

On the other hand, Draco had been trying, half-heartedly, to get out of the thing all day. It was perhaps just as well that he'd gotten this last attempt out of the way early in the game. "He's not leaving either, Draco," was the response Snape eventually settled on.

"Then I guess we'll all just sit here until we die," Draco said. "Shall we send out for drinks?"

Snape knew from discussing Draco's brief stay, last fall, in a muggle insane asylum, that this was a variation on the strategy he'd used with the muggle healers. Since Draco had now resorted to psychology, Snape decided to sit back and let the trick cyclist handle it.

And Mallory did. "Of course, if you're certain you want Professor Snape to stay, that's fine."

"I am," Draco said pleasantly. "Certain."

"Very well. I'll start by asking you some questions."

"You do that."

The first questions the healer asked Draco were very basic--his name where he was, who was Minister of Magic. Severus supposed they were meant to relax him, but Draco didn't look the least bit soothed.

He expected that the next questions would be about The Incident or Draco's parents. Instead, Mallory asked, "How do you feel?"

Draco blinked. "Right now, you mean? Or in general?"

"Right now."

"I don't know."

"Well, think about it."

Draco was silent for three and a half minutes. He may have been thinking about the question, but Severus doubted it. If Mallory had asked him, he knew how he'd answer: "Annoyed. If you ask again, I'll be feeling homicidal rage."

"Nope. I still don't know. Should I think about it some more?" Draco asked, with excessive politeness.

" No, that's fine. Let's talk about your schoolwork."

"Okay." Draco sounded uncertain.

"The Headmaster allowed me to see your marks from the last few years. You're a very good student."

Draco didn't react to this bit of news.

"How has your performance been this year?"

"Fine." After a moment or two, he amplified, "There was about a month when I didn't do much work, but I got caught up."

"When was that?"

"After my father died. And then I missed two weeks when I was being held prisoner by the muggles. But I got caught up," he repeated.

"I see. Have you been having any trouble concentrating?"

"Yes," Draco said uncertainly. "I mean, I guess so."

"How about your memory. Have you been having any trouble remembering things?"

"No," he said. "I wish I was."

"Ordinary things, I mean. If I asked what you had for supper the night before last, would you be able to tell me?"

Draco thought for a moment. "Beef Stroganoff."

"That was Tuesday," Severus said apologetically, his first contribution since Mallory had agreed he could stay.

"Oh, yeah." Draco thought some more. "Last night was lamb stew, I remember that, and the night before was...ham."

So the answer was yes, he was having trouble with his memory. Severus hadn't noticed that.

"It all kind of tastes the same," Draco continued. "That's next, isn't it? Loss of appetite?"

"Yes, that's next. I'll put you down for 'yes,' shall I?"

Draco smiled fixedly and went on, "I'm having trouble sleeping, too."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Nightmares, mostly. I'm tired all the time, but I don't want to sleep, and then when I do, half the time I wake up screaming. It's a lot of fun, actually," Draco said dryly.

"I see. Are you taking anything?"

"Yes." He named the sleeping draughts he had been using. "He won't let me taking Dreamless Sleep." Draco indicated Severus with a look.

"As well he shouldn't," Mallory said primly. He looked down at his notes. "All right, let's talk about the attack. What happened?"

"I was in the library trying to study. Everybody else was down in Hogsmeade."

Severus hadn't thought much about this part of the story--the part he wasn't in. "I was sitting with Potter. I keep thinking that's sort of funny--they could have had him instead of me, if they had looked. I finished up and headed back to my rooms. Then two men--two Death Eaters--two men in Death Eater clothes--came out from behind the statue of the one-eyed witch, and stupefied me. They revived me in a hallway and dragged me into a ballroom full of Death Eaters. Only I'm telling you about the wrong attack," Draco realized. "I keep forgetting, you're here about the other one."

"I'm here about all of them," Mallory said. "Go on."

"No, I don't want to." Severus could tell Draco was embarrassed by his mistake. He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "The other one. It happened in the Astronomy Tower." His next words all came out in a rush. "I got this note and it was signed from Zenobia, but it wasn't from her. I went up there, and I can't talk about this right now." He moved like he was trying to get up, remembered he couldn't unless Snape helped him, and instead slumped back against the sofa cushions and folded his arms across his chest.

"You can look up what happened," Snape pointed out. "There are plenty of reports."

"I need to hear about it from Draco. Directly." Mallory's voice was polite but implacable.

"Well, you're not going to," Draco said petulantly.

"Just tell him," Severus said, wondering if he was trying to flunk this exam. "Get it over with. Then we can go."

Draco looked over at him, seemed about to speak, then shut his mouth firmly and shook his head.

"You have to," Snape pointed out.

"I don't," Draco said. "I don't have to do anything. I could just sit here until I die. Or until he gets tired and leaves."

Draco'd have done better not to say anything at all, Snape thought. As it was, Draco had given him an opening. "Very well. Suppose you do that. What will that accomplish, exactly?

Draco thought for a long time. Finally, instead of answering Snape's question, he began, "My former Housemates were in the tower. Crabbe and Goyle blocked the door behind me." He narrated what had happened in a flat, rushed voice. When he reached the end of the story, he said, "My friends came and stunned them all, and then we came here and talked to Dumbledore. That's it."

Mallory looked as though he was wondering whether to press his luck with more questions. Finally, he did. "Why didn't you want to talk about it?"

Draco hesitated. "I just didn't."

#

Mallory wasn't sure which of the two wizards facing him was the odder duck. Both radiated wariness and hostility bordering on paranoia. And not the usual wizarding--and British--fear that a mind-healer was some sort of sorcerer who would divine your innermost secrets from the way you put sugar in your tea, and then use them for cocktail party conversation. There was a bit of that in these two, but they also seemed halfway convinced that Malloy was likely to whip out his wand and hex them at any second, or that one of the overstuffed chairs would turn out to be a time bomb.

Unfortunately, given the history Headmaster Dumbledore had related to them, Mallory couldn't say that their fears weren't rational.

The Malfoy boy answered the basic questions with ease, demonstrating that he was oriented to time and place, was lucid and not floridly delusional or experiencing hallucinations. Or admitting to them. Valerian found their paranoia contagious and wondered if Draco had been coached in his responses.

Overall physical health was fair-to-poor. He was using more sleeping potions than was good for him, but wasn't addicted or suffering from any obvious neurological problems that would prevent him from giving testimony in court.

"Well," he said, once Draco had finished telling him about the events in question, "You've passed."

Draco didn't respond to this feeble witticism, and just nodded somberly.

"That is," Valerian continued, "You're aware of the difference between truth and falsehood, and your version of events is as likely to be consistent with reality as anyone's. I'll inform the court that I judge you to be a reliable witness."

"Thank you," Draco said flatly. "Terrific."

"However, I understand you haven't received any psychiatric treatment since your abduction?"

The boy shifted in his seat and looked over at Professor Snape, as if for reassurance. "No. No, I haven't. But I'm doing loads better, really."

Mallory didn't doubt that, but estimated that he'd been in really bad shape, before. "Of course. Have you ever heard of post-traumatic stress disorder?"

He shook his head. "But if it's anything like the name, I bet I have it."

"I have," Professor Snape volunteered. "Heard of it, I mean. "In the first World War--the first muggle world war--they called it shellshock. In the second, combat fatigue."

Valerian was, somehow, unsurprised that Professor Snape knew something about the psychological sequelae of war. If Snape was his patient, he'd have immediately followed up on his retreat into historical fact after a remark that may have bordered on personal disclosure. Instead, Mallory said, "That's right. PTSD is often seen in combat veterans, but also appears in members of the civilian population who have experienced an unusually traumatic event. And almost being tortured to death certainly qualifies."

Draco and Snape shared a significant look, and Draco drawled, "'Magine that. Symptoms?"

"Reliving the event through flashbacks or nightmares, feelings of detachment and alienation, anxiety and depression. Sleep problems often appear, changes in appetite, irritability, and dependence on alcohol, potions, and over-the-counter or recreational drugs. Naturally, I couldn't diagnose you after a single interview, but you might benefit from treatment."

It wasn't unusual for wizards to be angry or offended at the suggestion that they might have a psychiatric illness, and Valerian halfway expected Draco--or, more likely, his guardian--to respond abusively.

But Draco just said, "I can't go in hospital again. Security."

"I wouldn't recommend hospitalization in any case--you're not a danger to yourself or others. You could come in and see a mind-healer two or three times a week. I could make a referral."

"Maybe after the trial," Draco said noncommittally.

"The trial will, no doubt, be very difficult. I'd like to see a therapeutic relationship established beforehand."

Draco looked at him blankly for a moment, and then said, "No offense, but when I was in hospital, we all thought the shrinks were a lot of tossers. Sure, they were muggles, but--I doubt our sort are much better."

Professor Snape prodded him. "The muggle hospital seemed to have done you some good. You talk about it all the time."

"It was my friends that did me a lot of good," Draco retorted.

Snape patted his arm awkwardly.

"Can you say more about that, Draco?" Valerian asked, neutrally.

"The other kids," he said, "In the hospital. We talked a lot, in between therapy sessions. Especially these two girls, Lydia and Jenna. They--well, never mind. It helped. Knowing other people had been through similar things." His smile was absolutely without humor, and decidedly fey, besides. "Of course, that was when my big problem was that I had no friends and my abusive father had been killed by Ministry thugs. Now, if I could have those problems again...."

"Unfortunately, life doesn't work that way," Valerian noted.

"No shit," Draco said with a flash of irritation. It was the liveliest Mallory had seen him.

He and Snape shared another look. After a moment, Draco huffed and smiled a little, ironically. Snape said, "Still, it might not be a bad idea for you to see a mind-healer. If we can find one you can live with." He put an odd, heavy emphasis on the last words.

"I'll think about it," Draco said. "After the trial, I think."

"The stress of testifying in court might exacerbate your problems," Valerian said. "I'd really like for you to start treatment before then."

Draco looked like he didn't much care what Mallory wanted.

"Thank you, Healer," Snape said politely. And dismissively.

#

"Wow," Draco said, as soon as the Healer had left. "Me, with post-traumatic what sit. I'm shocked."

"No, now," Snape said. "Settle down." Draco, except for his occasional blank refusal to speak, had been strangely flat during the interview. Now he was edging toward mania.

"He should be chairman of the committee to bring the incredibly obvious to your attention."

"If the position is open, certainly," Snape agreed. "What do you think?"

Draco knew what he meant. "I don't know. I don't much fancy talking to a total stranger about...you know. Everything."

"Yes, I know." He shifted uncomfortably. "Er."

Draco looked at him expectantly.

"You've said that talking to your friends helped..." He couldn't quite finish the thought. Draco did know someone who had been through the same, as he had called it, "stuff." Up to and including almost being tortured to death.

Draco looked puzzled for a moment. Then, "Are you suggesting...Slytherin Therapy Group?" That manic edge was in his voice, still.

Snape winced. "Can we call it something else?"

"Sure," Draco agreed cheerfully.

"We haven't talked much," Severus said, "About...everything. The episode with the teapot was a...distraction." Draco had been angry with him, with good reason, and they had resolved that, but at the cost of addressing his other problems.

"I guess. Does that mean we'll be brewing up fac me certiorum again?"

"You don't have to sound so enthusiastic about it," Snape growled.

"Oh, it'll be loads of fun, Professor," Draco said immediately. "I jus love making fiendishly difficult potions so we can have uncomfortable conversations."

"That's my boy."