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Harry’s day only just started but it's already turned into quite the mess. He poured coffee all over himself, shouting so loudly he almost woke James up, sleeping in the other room. Then he realized he forgot to take out the trash and now there's just not enough space in the kitchen and his clothes fit him all wrong somehow and he's still tired even though he slept through the night.
Some days are just harder than others. He reminds himself. It doesn't have to mean anything alarming. You're okay. James is okay. Today is going to suck a little but it will be over eventually. It will end eventually.
He sighs as he rubs his palm against his sternum.
Lets see, he has a 9am appointment, Scorpius Malfoy. The kid made the appointment about a week ago, surprisingly enough, taking Harry completely off guard. Just hearing the name Malfoy rang long forgotten alarm bells in his head. But it wasn't Draco Malfoy who called him, and Harry was a professional after all. Or something of the sort.
Harry notes that Scorpius was born the same year James was, they eyen went to Hogwarts together, though James never reported the two of them being friends or even acquaintances.
Harry flips through his notes as he puts the kettle on.
17 years old, only child, divorced parents. Harry didn't think Malfoy to turn out to be the divorcing type, but who is he to judge? Him and Ginny have split up when James was still little. Harry’s still not over it, if he's honest, some small, pathetic part of him still wishing for those few years of warmth and safety he and Ginny shared. They're still on good terms, thanks Merlin, Harry can't imagine how he would have managed to raise James otherwise.
Car accident. Blvd. St Louis, a muggle district. Huh.
Circumstances: unclear – awaits judgment of certified psychologist before further investigation can continue. There was a witness, who also called the ambulance, that stated they saw the boy walk into traffic without looking twice.
Oh.
It's a case where Harry is asked to assess the patient's mental state, to gauge whether they caused the accident or not. Whether they tried to end their life by getting into an accident on purpose. The file does not state it, but Harry knows from experience that in almost every case like this, the person has tried to commit.
This is going to be a long day.
The kid's come alone, with nothing but a stretched out sweater thrown around his shoulders. A full arm cast covers his left arm, making his movements awkward and uncertain. According to the file the accident happened about two weeks ago. If you ask Harry, that's not a long time to recover from an arm broken in three places and several cracked ribs. But he's hardly an expert on the human body. No, medicine was never his calling. James however… Focus on the patient for Merlin's sake, he silently chastises himself.
Once they both settle, Harry gets to work. Tries to assess the kid's overall emotional state. He registers the way he sits, the way he holds himself, his face, his expressions. Does he meet his eye? Is he nervous, scared? Arrogant, cocky?
Not quite.
Scorpius seems… Unimpressed. Closed off. Barely present.
Harry skips the usual introductions he would normally ask first from his patients.
Instead he decides not to beat around the bush.
“So, I understand you're here to get an assessment.”
Scorpius doesn't look at him when he answers. “I thought that was obvious. Are you sure you're qualified? The court said that it's okay if I come here but…" The bitterness and sarcasm flowing out of Scorpius didn't go past Harry. He cocked his head, raising an eyebrow at the boy sitting in front of him.
This conversation would be a lot easier if Scorpius actually looked at him but Harry can't be deterred. He's going to get to the bottom of this.
“Technically, I am qualified to give out an assessment of your emotional state. Though in practice? Who knows. You'll have to see for yourself.”
Scorpius does look up at that and Harry's secretly proud of himself for getting a reaction out of him. Scorpius' eyes are more blue than Draco's, yet somehow warmer too. They miss some of that cruelty, Harry concludes.
“I'm not here for you to poke around in my head. I don't want to ‘find out’ anything,” Scorpius huffs, clearly getting annoyed. “I just need the paper with the evidence on it that will tell the judges I'm not crazy. As soon as possible.”
“Okay,” Harry puts his hand up placatingly. “I hear you. But for me to write the assessment, I need to get to know you better. I need to know what happened the night of the accident. What the circumstances were, how you felt. You need to talk to me, kid.”
If looks could kill, Harry would certainly be six feet under by now. Scorpius is seething, practically vibrating off his seat, blankness and disinterest long gone from his face.
“Didn't you read the file?” Scorpius asks irritatedly. “I don't remember. I don't know what I felt.”
“Were you upset that night?” Harry pushes gently. Scorpius does not meet his eyes.
“Scorpius, I want you to know that no matter what you say here, you won't get in any trouble. You're safe here.”
Scorpius mumbles something Harry can't catch. “Could you repeat that?”
Now frustrated, Scoprius looks at him, something fierce in his eyes, but Harry knows better and recognizes the true emotion behind the expression: Scorpius is terrified.
“I said, sure, it's not like you or Draco can just send me to a psych ward the moment I confirm what you already decided happened.”
“No one's sending you to a psych ward, Scorpius. That's not how this works,” Harry suppresses a sigh. He can hear mugs tinkling in the kitchen. James must be getting ready for school. Harry hopes he remembers to have something to eat and not just drink his usual black coffee before rushing out the door.
“I don't know anything, until you tell me, okay? I have assumptions, I'm only human too, but I promise you that I try hard to not let those assumptions and preconceptions blind me while I'm talking to you.”
Scorpius seems to pipe down a bit at that. He starts fidgeting with the cast around his left arm. Harry can see that he holds himself awkwardly, he probably still couldn't get used to restriction of movement. Maybe he’s in pain too. Harrys not sure if he still takes medication, if it even helps or if he stopped taking them despite his doctor's instructions. Or worse, if he saved up the pills to use… later.
“You're left-handed, right?”
“Yeah, Scorpius says, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. Ironic isn't it, now even if I wanted to, I couldn't off myself.” Harry feels himself stiffen. Merlin, no matter how long he's been working as a therapist, those kinds of sentences are never easier to hear.
“Calm down,” Scorpius snorts. “I was just kidding.”
Harry remains silent. His patient is 17, he reminds himself. He comes from a complicated background. He's hurting. Sometimes, when patients give him a hard time, they try to provoke him, make fun of him, humiliate him, even. Harry found that the best course of action in these situations is to stay silent. It’s basic protocol too, ‘remain silent if you don't know how to react. Give yourself and the patient time to process the words that were said’.
Scorpius fidgets anxiously in his seat. He took the sofa, as the majority of Harry's patients do.
He's a tall, lanky kid, at first glance he seems underweight, though that might only be due to a recent growth spurt, Harry's always careful with jumping to conclusions. The kid is wearing all black, tight ripped jeans and a t-shirt. It has the logo of one of the uprising quidditch teams, all girls, it was a big deal in the daily prophet a couple of weeks ago. All women, feminist quidditch, team, Wicked Witches – takes second place in the international tournament – Harry recalls the headline.
Harry glances out the window. It's a beautiful day. He might take the dog out for a walk into the surrounding woods later. James comes home late, his medi-wizard training filling out most of the hours of the day.
Harry looks back at Scorpius. He wears a closed off expression on his face, he holds himself tightly, Harry has the impression that it takes a great deal of effort. He looks like he's a moment away from–
Scorpius’s face crumples. The tears that have been gradually gathering in his eyes finally fall. He hides himself, turning away from Harry. He's embarrassed, Harry thinks, a sad feeling rushing through him.
“It's okay,” he says quietly, nudging a box of tissues towards Scorpius, who takes one, still facing away, towards the door on the left.
“I-,” Scorpius starts, voice hoarse, “I don't-,'' but he can't finish the sentence as a wave of sobs overwhelms him.
A lot of pent up emotions, Harry notes, and as he taps his wand, a quill at his desk starts moving. Frustration and sadness, definitely, but there's anger mixed in there too. The quill is charmed silent, so the only sound filling the room are Scorpius's cries. Harry can see that the boy works hard to keep the sounds in, ashamed at having to let them out.
“If you need a moment, I can leave you alone for a bit, or you can go into the bathroom, it's just right around the corner, behind the desk,” Harry says gently, trying to gauge what Scorpius needs right now, what would help him.
It's good that he can let it out. That he could let go in front of Harry. He didn't expect it, if he's honest. It could also be quite a bad sign too, now that he thinks about it. If Scorpius is generally a reserved person, keen on hiding his emotions then the fact that he broke down so early on in the process is alarming. It could mean that he's been through serious trauma and his usual patterns of behavior are crumbling due to unprocessed pain and disorientation.
“It's done, it's over now,” Scorpius exhales shakily. His right index finger is tapping a rapid rhythm on his thigh. Soothing himself. He's making an effort at wiping his face clean. He crumbles the tissue and pushes it deep into his jeans’ pocket.
“I'm sorry,” he adds, surprising Harry. Scoprius is now in a different mood entirely than he was at the beginning of the session, he sort of dropped the attitude. Now he just sounds small. Resigned. Harry hated it, hated seeing him crumple.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Scorpius. Crying can actually be a very crucial part of letting out pent up emotions and start healing.”
Scorpius scoffs, waving a hand, as if brushing off Harry's words.
“I don't even know why I’m here, I'm telling you, dad- Draco and the court completely overreacted. Nothing happened.”
And back they are on square one. Your arm is broken. Harry wants to say. Your ribs are cracked in two places. You almost died. He wants to shout. You're only seventeen and you almost died and it's my responsibility to find out if you were the one who tried to end it.
But Harry doesn't say any of that. That doesn't mean that those thoughts don't remain with him though. Don't haunt him. He's a professional but that doesn't mean he can remain unaffected by his patients' pain and history. If Luna could see his thoughts right now, if she could look inside his mind, she would shake her head at him. Go back to therapy, Harry,- she would say in that gentle voice of hers. All his career Harry tried to learn it from her; the way to get his voice to sound so smooth, so comforting. No matter how hard he tries though, his voice seems to come out filled with splinters. Sharp edges and fault lines. It's a miracle he has any patients at all.
Harry closes his eyes for a moment, forcefully pulling himself out of the self hating thought spiral. Focus. You're working. W-o-r-k-i-n-g. He makes a mental note to call Luna later that day then jumps back into the conversation.
Harry decides to ignore the bait and asks Scorpius another question instead. No need to run the same laps over and over again. Scorpius is not ready to talk about the accident, so Harry won't push him to.
“How often would you say you cry?”
Scorpius furrows his brow. “Is this a joke?” he asks. Harry doesn't miss the way he wraps his right arm around his middle protectively; the way he leans slightly forward, how he edges closer to the edge of the sofa. Alert. Ready to bolt.
They have entered the panic zone. Scorpius is feeling threatened. It's a reaction Harry anticipated but still finds himself unprepared for.
“It's not a joke,” he assures patiently, not taking his eyes away from the boy. Assessing body language has always been one of Harry's talents, the welcomed side effect of growing up in an abusive household- he thinks bitterly then quickly diminishes the thought. When the silence stretches, Harry tries again.
“When was the last time you cried before today's session?”
“A few years ago, I think?” Scorpius says eventually. Harry nods at him.
“And how many times would you have needed to cry in those few years? Lets say, if the circumstances were right?”
“It’s not,” Scorpius falters. “It wasn't about the circumstances, I just, I never had anything to cry about, so I didn't. I'm not a crybaby.” Words. Well rehearsed, well practiced sentences, Harry notes.
“I never said you were. Never thought it either, not for a second,” Harry adds, smiling at Scorpius a little, hoping that will earn him a positive reaction.
“There's just nothing to cry about,” Scorpius says again, putting weight behind the words.
“Yesterday I saw a family of small birds in my windowsill and started crying a little. We’re human, Scorpius. There's always something to cry about. It's normal. It's not a weakness. It's human. ”
“I’m not weak.” Another explosive reaction. Heat rising to Scorpius face.
“I know,” Harry says. “Crying doesn't make anyone weak. You're allowed to cry anytime you need to. Life is hard enough as it is, we don't have to make it harder by not letting our sadness out from time to time.”
Scorpius meets Harry's eyes. He's got a pensive look on his face, his eyes still red rimmed, and having a shine to them.
“You’re not like I imagined you to be,” Scorpius says after a few beats, looking Hurry up and down.
“What did you imagine I'd be like?” Harry asks him, curious to hear his answer.
“I don't know,” Scorpius trails off. “Old?”
Harry snorts. “Really? Had a fantasy of Freud himself being your therapist, did you?”
Fuck. Overstepped, definitely, most certainly over-fucking-stepped- Harry thinks, surpressing a wince, knowing he fucked up and probably made Scorpius draw back into his shell even more.
Before he could apologize though, there's a laugh, tentative at first then it grows to be lively and brilliant. Harry didn't think he’d hear it so early on into the sessions.
“I guess so,” Scorpius says, a reserved smile finding its way on his pale face. “Can you blame me, though? My father, he never… I think he did everything in his power to ensure I knew as little as possible of therapy and how it worked.”
That explains the fear of being hospitalized, then.
“If the court did not assign it, I would never ever have come here.”
“Did you think about it, though? Trying therapy?” Harry asks. He tries to read between Scorpius’s lines. Draco has never exactly been the example of great mental health back in their days in Hogwarts, and he definitely doesn't come from a family where a profession with ‘muggle’ origins could ever be accepted, but still. Every child should have at least a vague concept of what therapy is and how it can help. You never know when you might need it. Never know when it's too late to find out about it. When the thought doesn't even cross your mind before you do something you can't erase.
“I did, yeah,” Scorpius says. “The red sofa, leaning back, looking at the ceiling while barfing up your darkest thoughts and desires? I mean who doesn't think about it?”
Harry smiles at Scorpius, suddenly reminded about his own preconceptions of therapy back when he was Scoprius’ age. There's something terribly, undeniably exciting about it.
“How about your darkest desire, Scorpius?” It's a long shot, asking something so vague and personal so early on, but that is the reason what they are doing is called therapy and not a lunch date, Harry supposes.
“Shouldn't you wait till like the tenth session to ask that?” Scorpius squints at him suspiciously.
“Mm, you're probably right, however I was never one to play by the rules and I'm not about to start now,” Harry grins.
“God, you're weird,” Scorpius mumbles, though he keeps talking. “I have this… thought. It's stupid, I know.” Harry listens intently.
“It's a place. And it's made of a substance similar to pudding but like, more transparent, in a way?” Harry nods, letting Scorpius continue. “It's black, like pitch black but it can let a bit of light through I think.”
Harry is alert, tapping his wand again, so that his quill can mark down every word Scorpius says. “I put my hand into it and it swallows it up. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't feel like anything. And I know if I'm surrounded by it, then I'll be completely okay.” “Nothing can hurt me there…,” Scorpius remains silent for a few moments. “I don't know, it's weird,” “But it helps. To think about it, I mean.”
“When do you think about it?” Harry asks, his voice carefully neutral. The last thing he wants right now is to scare Scorpius off.
“Oh, just randomly throughout the day. Whenever I need it.”
“This thought, does it make you happy?” Harry asks, watching Scorpius closely for any nonverbal signs that might give him more information about the boy’s inner thought process and feelings.
Scorpius left eye twitches, his right lip corner moving slightly up. Contempt. Anger. Harry analyzes the expressions.
“No, it, it's just,” Scorpius is struggling to find the words. “I find comfort in it. I know that's like, so weird. You must think I'm crazy.”
“I don't think you’re crazy, Scorpius.” Harry is careful with his next words. “However, I think that you are hurting. Even though you might not admit it to yourself.”
Scorpius grimaces, as he forms tight fists with his right hand.
“It's very important that you tell me whenever thoughts or desires like the one you just described come up in the future. I promise you I won't use it against you, it's just important that I know about them, okay?”
Scorpius seems distrustful for a moment but then gives a slow nod in response.
“Thank you,” Harry says, relief washing through him.
That's good, that's really good that Scorpius feels comfortable enough to share so openly. Harry has got to keep a close eye on him.
There's no sugarcoating it; the kid has suicidal thoughts, and if the suspicions are correct, he already tried to kill himself once.
Harry doesn't need to draw up the yearly statistical data to know that if a person has already tried once, the chances that they'll try again are worryingly high
“I don’t want to die,” Scorpius says to the carpet lying between them. “If you were wondering.”
“Okay. I’m relieved to hear that.” But that can’t be the end of it. “Listen, I know that what I’m about to say might sound unexpected. But having suicidal thoughts,” Scorpius grimaces at the words, like they hurt him. Harry pushes on. “It doesn't make anyone less. Less strong or good. We have to look at it like we’d treat any other disease. It's something that hurts and destructs, but it's never the person’s fault, okay?” Harry puts his hand up when he can see Scorpius want to start to protest. “I’m not saying that you are suicidal. I don’t know anything until you tell me. I just want you to keep what I said in mind. It’s something everyone should know.”
Scoprius fidgets in his seat, looking around the room. The cast is bothering him, Harry thinks, as he observes the boy rubbing his good hand up and down the white material.
“I just need you to write the statement,” Scorpius says so quietly Harry almost doesn't hear him.
"Why is it so important to you?" Harry asks, genuinely curious.
"Are you serious?" Scorpius glares at him.
“Yes.”
“It’s the company.” Scorpius squeezes his eyes shut for the briefest of seconds. “The insurance company refuses to pay because of that witness. We need the statement to win the case. If I don't, if I fail here, everything will fall apart.”
Well okay then, Harry thinks, feeling a deep throbbing headache on its way.
“Fail here?”
“Yeah, I mean if the assessment, if it's, if I-,” Scorpius doesn't seem to know how to end that sentence.
After a few beats Harry decides to break the silence. It’s stretched on long enough. “Listen, I understand that this situation is very stressful. And that there's probably a lot of money on the line. But your life and well-being is more important than that.”
“Easy for you to say,” Scorpius rubs at his eyes.
“Okay. Here's what we can do,” Harry decides, ignoring the little voice in his head, telling him he's making a huge mistake, that this is unprofessional and wrong. “I'll write the assessment, regardless of what the truth is, of what really happened. But only on one condition, you come back. You come back, and you let me treat you.”
Scorpius whips his head up, incredulous. “You'd do that?”
“Yes. Yes, I would. I told you I'm not one to play by the rules,” Harry smiles. “And also because I think that,” here comes the hard part “you could be at risk of hurting yourself.”
Scorpius flinches back, like he'd been slapped by Harry's words. Harry feels his heart squeeze in his chest by the boy’s reaction.
“I know that's a scary thing to hear. Believe me, I know. But we can do things about it, we can help you feel better about yourself, about your life. You're not… stuck with this, Scorpius.”
Scorpius starts picking at the end of his cast. He gives the tiniest nod, and Harry lets out a relieved sigh. “Three more sessions. And then I’m done.”
---
James opens the door, still half-asleep barely managing to keep his eyes open.
"Who is it?" voice coming out hoarse and scratchy. Silence. James forces his eyes to focus. The first thing he notices is the boy's hair. Then his eyes. Then the way he holds himself, shoulders slightly drawn in, gaze never meeting James'. And there's the cast, encompassing his entire left arm.
"Hi," the boy says, though it seems like it takes effort to form the simple greeting.
"Can I help you?" James asks, starting to get a little suspicious. His dad did always warn him about uninvited intruders. Harry most certainly doesn't have an appointment right now, he took the whole weekend off and is off letting off steam, his words, with Auntie Luna.
"I'm" the other boy hesitates. "Scorpius," he extends his hand. James doesn't miss the slight shake of his fingers. "I'm here to see Dr. Potter. I have an appointment," he quickly adds.
"I thought he cleared his schedule goddamn it," James mutters but then something flashes through the boy's eyes resembling pain far too much to James liking. There is a thin, glistening layer of sweat on Scorpiuses forehead. He looks like he's an inch away from toppling over. Or throw up. James can't really make the difference.
"Nice to meet you, I'm James, his son. Har- Dr Potter is away on a trip," James explains, trying to keep his voice calm. Scorpius clutches his left hand to his stomach and he slightly leans forward. "Listen, you really look like you need to sit down. Come in. I can give you a glass of water." James wouldn't normally do this. It's not exactly an unknown occurrence that he opens the front door to a misinformed patient, Harry gets careless with his schedule sometimes, forgets to cancel some clients appointments or schedules two of them for the same time.
Scorpius nods in agreement and follows James into the house. James has the distant feeling coming inside is the last thing Scorpius wanted but he really does seem like he's a beat away from passing out.
"Can I get you anything? Also, do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar somehow…" James asks, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. He's way out of his depths here, he's no psychologist, what was Harry thinking?
"Water. Please. And no. You must confuse me with someone." The words come out of Scorpius' mouth like they physically hurt to be said out loud.
James watches helplessly as he lowers himself to the ground, back pressed against the wall of the entryway. He knows down a keychain as he braces himself on the coffee table, not quite managing to steady himself.
"Whoa, okay. Fuck ," James curses under his breath.
Scorpius' head is dropping, he's barely keeping his eyes open. He's trembling all over, the color of his face turning greenish. He purses his lips together trying to fight off a groan, but James hears it nonetheless.
"Hey, hey, kid?" James crouches down in front of him, sneaks a hand on his neck to check his pulse. "Stay with me okay?"
Pale as a wall, trembling, sweat glistening on his almost translucent skin. Okay this could either be low blood sugar or the beginning of a heart attack, let's hope for the former. James thinks with a beating heart, mad at himself for not knowing enough yet to help Scorpius better. He's aiming to be a medi-wizard for Merlin's sake.
"What's," Scorpius slurs, looking around him with unseeing eyes and James can see the first signs of panic and desperation on his face.
"You're okay, everything is alright."
No it's not. It's not, his pulse is irregular and weaker than James ever felt one. Food. Sugar. Come on James you can do this.
First kitchen then call Harry.
"Okay, I'm going to bring you some water and a snack. Why don't you try bringing your head between your knees for me?" James suggests, keeping his voice quiet and soothing. He helps Scorpius get into the secure position then rushes into the kitchen. Chocolate, yes, that's what they need. After grabbing a packet off the snack shelf he conjures a cup and fills it with cold water.
Right better send a Patronus, floo is a liability, maybe Harry's out flying somewhere with Auntie Luna.
James struggles to think of his happiest memory more than usual, with all the stress of having to keep a boy from passing out. Finally he manages, and a silver fox emerges from his wand.
"Dad, it's Scorpius, he's here, you forgot to cancel his appointment," stick to the point, goddamn it, "he's, he's sick and I don't know what to do, I think he's going to pass out. Please help."
He doesn't watch the fox disappear, he goes straight back to Scorpius, sitting down next to the boy and first trying to pray some water into him. Scorpius accepts the glass of water with shaky fingers and gulps it all down.
"Thanks," Scorpius says, giving the glass back.
"Here, you should eat some chocolate," James offers. "You seem to be better but could you talk to me? You scared the hell out of me."
"It's fine. I'm fine. I just get lightheaded sometimes, it's nothing to worry about."
James would have a couple of things to say to "it's nothing to worry about" but before he could give a presentation about the importance of hydrating and eating a balanced diet there's a cracking sound coming from the living room and Harry comes rushing to them.
"James, what, are you okay?" Harry asks eloquently, making James roll his eyes.
"It's Scorpius, he's almost fainted. I think we should take him to Mungo's."
"No." Scorpius says with a tone so icy and cold James reels back a little.
"What do you mean, you practically collapsed, you have to—"
"I don't have to do shit," Scorpius snarls as he pushes himself off the ground, his movements slow and awkward, like he has to fight his limbs to make them cooperate.
“Okay, okay,” Harry interjects before things could get too out of hand. “Scorpius, why don’t you come sit in my office, we’ll get you something to drink while I call your dad, okay?”
Harry isn’t sure if it’s the mention of having to eat or the mention of his dad, but Scorpius curls in on himself even further, not showing any sign of cooperation. “No,” he says for good measure, leaning away from both James and Harry. “I don’t want that.”
“Okay, so what do you want?” James asks, confused.
This is exactly why having an office in his home was a bad idea, Harry should have kept his personal life separate from work.
“Just give me a minute. I just need a few minutes and I’ll be good to go.”
“Yeah, like we’d just let you walk out of here in this state,” James snorts, but it comes out sounding sweet instead of mean, Harry notes, arching a brow.
“Okay, James? Darling? Please go to your room, and let me handle this?” Harry hopes James will listen, he really doesn’t have the energy to deal with not only one, but two petulant teens. “I’ll let you know when the food is ready and we’ll all eat together.”
James grunts in agreement and leaves Scorpius and Harry alone.
“Want to tell me what happened?” Harry asks, trying to keep most of his worry out of his voice.
“Just got light headed I guess,” Scorpius is quick to dismiss his concern. He pushes himself up, but Harry doesn’t miss the pained expression that crosses his face while doing so.
“I won’t force you to eat. I seriously think it would help you feel better, though,” Harry says quietly. He doesn’t want to pressure Scorpius but he also can’t let him go while in such a state. “I can call your dad while you sit down in the kitchen.”
Scorpius looks like he wants to protest but then just shakes his head and follows Harry into the kitchen.
“You and your kid seem close,” he says nonchalantly. Harry doesn’t know how to react. How to react appropriately that is.
“We are. Does that surprise you?”
Scorpius scoffs, though he can’t seem to be able to meet Harry’s eyes. “No. You seem like a cool dad.”
“Okay, now you’re definitely being sarcastic,” Harry snaps, but he doesn’t put any bite behind his words. Scorpius making fun of him, kind of, is not as offending as it should be. He almost feels… fond. Protective. Wanting to keep the boy safe. Loved. Accepted. “Why don’t you tell me a little but about your dad instead? You came for a session, we might as well get into it.” Harry means that last part as a joke, but realizes soon enough that Scorpius isn’t taking it that way. He looks down at his hands, fidgeting uncomfortably on the high kitchen chair.
“What is there to say?”
“Are you close?” Harry asks easily, though he knows it’s anything but. None of this is easy for Scorpius.
“Now who’s being sarcastic?” The smirk that follows is short lived on Scorpius’ lips. “No. I wouldn’t say we’re close. Colleagues who tolerate each other would probably be a more accurate way of describing our relationship.”
Now that gets Harry’s attention on more levels than one. He reigns his emotions in, trying to appear as leveled as possible in front of Scorpius. He takes out yesterday’s leftover soup from the fridge and lights up the stove with a quick swish of his wand.
He sits down across Scorpius while waiting for the soup to heat.
“Tolerate?” Harry asks back. The less he says right now, the more space he leaves Scorpius to fill out the blanks. If he is willing to, that is.
“Oh, sorry, I assumed you’d be familiar with the meaning of the word. My bad,” Scorpius snaps, rubbing his forehead with two fingers.
“Okay. You can either drop the sass or we can just sit here in silence,” Harry tries for another approach. There is a way to Scorpius’ mind, it’s a bumpy road but Harry has already made his way there once, he can do it again. “It’s going to be real awkward,” he adds, smiling a little.
Scorpius glares at Harry but then he sighs defeatedly. Such theatrics, Harry thinks. But eventually, Scorpius talks.
“Yeah, I mean. He tolerates me. On most days. Some days he makes it hard to believe he even does that. Tolerate me, I mean.”
It's work for Harry not to think back to nights spent in a cupboard. Mornings spent cooking and then still having to go hungry for the rest of the day.
“Im. I’m so sorry you feel that way. Do you want to talk a bit more about it?”
“Not particularly,” Scorpius says, looking down at his hands that he now crossed on the table.
Harry stands up and gets the soup off of the stove. He prepares both himself and Scorpius a bowl.
Scorpius doesn't wait for Harry to start eating first, he digs in straight away, though he doesn't look happy about it. He eats without stopping, it doesn't even seem like he really tastes the food. It seems like he wants to get over it as soon as possible. It seems like eating is not the only thing he wants to get over with.
Harry watches as Draco opens the car door for Scorpius. Draco in a muggle car… Harry never thought he’d see the day, but then again, Harry saw and heard of a lot of things he never would have thought of in Hogwarts.
Harry knows people can change. He saw it first hand, helped people change all the time, it was his job for Merlin’s sake.
But right then? Seeing Draco from the small opening between his curtain and window, seeing him barely acknowledge Scorpius, ushering him into the car without a word and closing his door in a hurry made an uneasy feeling roll around in his stomach.
Harry has one more appointment with Scorpius before he has to write the statement about the kid’s mental health. It’s more pressure than he thought. He promised Scorpius that he’d write the statement in a way that wouldn’t make the court judge against them, but what was Harry supposed to do about Scorpius? Draco won’t pay for the sessions after the statement is done. Harry offered to take Scoprius up pro bono but Draco didn’t even let him finish that suggestion. His pride too big, probably.
Harry wonders if his pride is enough to deal with a dead kid too, then immediately berates himself. It's just hard to watch someone struggle to breathe when you spent your entire childhood drowning. Harry's gotten better at remembering that there's a difference, that his patient's pain is not a mirror to his own traumas, but today he just can't quite manage to.