Group Therapy

Group Therapy

Dr. Horatio Kincaid reached up into the air, pulled a cigarette from it, and took two drags. He stood in the corner of his clinic office and stared out the window at Muggle Los Angeles. He was tall man, in his late twenties, with, long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and sparkling blue eyes. His left ear was pierced in several places and his tongue once. He took another draw on his cigarette and stared down at the busy street. "If they only knew," he thought. If they only knew who would be arriving very shortly for their first group session. He shook his head and tried to figure out how he had been talked into this.

Of course, he knew. He was doing it as a favor for Professor Killainka, the Dean of Dragon's Wood, his alma mater. However, he was more than that. Horatio took another drag and smiled so that the dimple on his right cheek shown. Killainka had been his mentor, the only father that he had never had known; that's why he was doing this, and the only reason he would take on such a task. He sighed, finished his smoke, and continued to stew over this morning's session. He walked over to the files on his desk, sat down, and began to read and rifle through them. He thought about when he had talked to each member of the group separately and wondered if Killainka knew anything at all about these people that he had asked him to take on.

"For Merlin's sake, Javier," he said out loud. "These men," he said, looking at the files before him, "are still trapped in the nineteenth century and that's only the beginning of their problems." He flipped open the first file and scoffed. "This one's a Werewolf. I bet he'll be fun at the clinic Christmas party." He flipped the next file open and shook his head. "And this one's a paranoid schizophrenic," he chuckled. "But then, most Aurors are." He moved on to the next file and rolled his eyes, "I'm not even opening this little prick's file again until I'm forced to." Horatio picked up the next to last and furled his brow. "Why I am administering therapy to a ghost I'm sure I don't know." He threw this file on the desk, leaned back in his chair, and pulled another cigarette. "Javier, you must owe Dumbledore some hellish favor."

Horatio waited until the last one arrived before he entered the large, brightly lit room. He quickly surveyed each man and where they had positioned themselves. This, thought Kincaid, was very important. It was a clue as to each individual's personality. It hadn't surprised him at all to find his paranoid schizophrenic hiding in the darkest corner of the room, or his egotistical prick seated himself on the couch, front and center of the room and he supposed where the ghost sat made no never mind. However, he hadn't expected his werewolf to be standing off to himself and looking quite remorse.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said entering the room and capturing their attention. "I'm not sure if you know each other but I believe you all know why you're here, so let's start out by going around the room and introducing ourselves." Kincaid pulled a cigarette from the air and took his first drag. "I am Dr. Horatio Kincaid, master of ceremonies and all-around-good guy. I am here to help you work through your emotional baggage, your unfinished business, so to say, over your recent position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I would prefer that you call me Horatio, but if you feel the need, bastard is okay too." Horatio heard a giggle from the direction of his "little prick" and decided he drew the short stick. "All right Lockhart your turn."

"Gilderoy Lockhart," he announced, standing up and pulling his periwinkle robes around him as he did. Then he looked around and added sheepishly, "Or at least that's what they tell me." He looked like a man who, at one time, would have been quite confident in himself and his looks and who now most likely had to be reminded how to dress in the morning. "I don't really remember. I, I don't really remember anything about myself or what I've been doing recently or otherwise, so, I'm not sure why I'm here. But I do have autographed pictures for everyone," he added beaming. There was a round of snickering behind him from several of the other group members and then Horatio's paranoid schizophrenic piped up.

"Sit down Lockhart, you stupid git." Lockhart turned to face the "scary man" and decided that he'd do exactly as he was told. His antagonist stepped forward making a loud clomping noise as he did. "Alastar Moody and I don't trust any of you. I wouldn't be here at all if my oldest and my trustworthy friend, Albus Dumbledore, hadn't insisted upon it." Kincaid watched as an almost hideously deformed man approached the front of the room. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred, a large chunk of his nose seemed to be missing, one of his eyes was small, dark, and beady, the other was round as a coin and a very vivid electric blue. This eye was now busy surveying the other members of the group while the smaller dark one focused on Kincaid. "Considering that I actually never taught the class last year, I certainly don't understand why I must be here." He paused. He was now very close to being face to face with Horatio who, having found himself in this position many times before, was not intimidated and did not flinch. "Perhaps Albus feels that spending nine months locked in the bottom of a chest warrants therapy."

Horatio's dimple appeared once more as he smiled. "Perhaps." Horatio starred into both of Moody's eyes now until the corner of his mouth rose into a weird sort of smile and he turned slowly on his wooden leg and returned to his corner.

"P-Professor Q-Quirrell," stuttered the ghost gliding into the middle of the room. "I-I think it's q-quite obvious w-why I am upset."

"Death?" Moody said coldly. Quirrell looked at Moody terrified and glided into the opposite corner.

"Alastar that's enough. We're not here to pick at each other." The Werewolf had decided to speak. Moody looked at him and lowered his eyes as the tall handsome figure in tattered robes stepped forward. "Remus Lupin, Horatio, and I don't have a problem with being here at all." He paused and looked around the room. "I'm sure that there are one or two things I could work through." He continued forward and stepped up to the couch. "So Horatio," he cracked a devilish smile. "I see no reason to call you bastard yet, what's next?"

Horatio grinned and pulled yet another cigarette from the air. After taking one or two drags and surveying this motley crew, he tilted his head slightly and asked his first question of them all. "What's next, gentlemen, is to find out what ails you. What's next is to ask you what one thing you feel brought you all to this room? What, more than anything, do you believe was what made the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts a nightmare?"

All four patients looked at each other and then Horatio and at the same time chimed in "Harry Potter!"

"Or at least that's what I've been told," added Lockhart pompously.