"Draco--" Harry cut himself off, since he didn't think it would do them any good to get into a huge row right before they saw the therapist.
Snape slanted him an approving glance. That was nice.
A few minutes walk later, they had reached a block of offices. Snape led them through the front the doors and up three flights of stairs to a wooden door discreetly labelled Dr. Marsha Goode. One brisk knock, and they were admitted by a slender woman with shoulder-length brown hair.
Fortyish, her face slightly lined, she ushered them into a room that seemed more a lounge than an office, at least to Harry. There wasn't a desk anywhere, though there were several couches and easy chairs. Only when everyone was seated did she begin to make introductions.
"I'm Dr. Goode, and I've met your father once before," she said, neatly crossing her ankles. "Please feel free to call me Marsha if you wish." She glanced at the boy sitting directly opposite her. "You must be Draco Snape."
Draco curled a lip and nodded without confirming it out loud.
The therapist smiled warmly, just as if she hadn't noticed that one of her visitors was regarding her office with something less than admiration. Then she turned her attention towards Harry. Her gaze sought out his scar in a way Harry recognised only too well. If he didn't know better, he'd assume she was a witch. But maybe more squibs had heard of him than he knew.
"Harry Potter," she said. "I've heard a lot about you."
Harry repressed a desire to sigh out loud, and decided the best thing he could do was turn the tables. "I've heard a bit about you, too. From my cousin Dudley. Thanks for helping him after the Dementor attack scared him silly."
"Thank you for so warmly accepting him back into your life, even after all that had passed between you," Dr. Goode murmured. "You must be a very nice young man."
"Excuse me," Draco broke in, leaning forward, "but I thought that the point of these sessions was actually to help me, not fawn over Harry Potter."
"Yes, of course," said the therapist, an expression of extreme professionalism transforming her features. "So, Professor Snape gave me all the particulars, but I'd like to hear them again from you. Both of you," she said, her glance including Harry. "How long has it been since you were adopted?"
"Him, months; me, weeks," said Draco with a slight sneer.
"We've both been his sons for about the same length of time," Harry disagreed. "But Draco's right about when it became legal for each of us."
"Why the differential?" Dr. Goode smiled then. "I mean, why the lapse in time--"
"We know what differential means, Dr. Goode," said Draco, that time with a smile so cold Harry felt chilled. "Harry and I have both attended Britain's premier school of Wizarding and Witchcraft for six years. Though I'm now expelled, as you no doubt know. Be that as it may, you obviously have no idea how challenging the curricula are at a private school like Hogwarts, not if you think we've yet to encounter the word differential."
"My apologies," said the doctor, folding her hands together as she leaned back in her chair. "My specialty is adolescents and many of them don't have as advanced a vocabulary as you appear to."
"Oh, well if you're going to compare wizards to Harry's fat dolt of a Muggle cousin--"
"Hey, don't insult Dudley!" Harry erupted. "He can't help being a Muggle!"
"Can he help being fat, or a dolt, or a lout?"
The therapist spoke directly to Snape, then. "I see you have your hands full, Professor."
Snape gave her a look that clearly meant, you think? Out loud though, all he said was a reserved, "Indeed."
"Oh, sure," sneered Draco. "Sympathize with Severus over how awful a person I am, right. Now we've got off at the right Floo, Doctor. Oh, but that's a wizarding idiom, isn't it? So you wouldn't understand. Note however that I do know a word like idiom--"
"Draco," the therapist smoothly interrupted, "I didn't mean that your father had his hands full with you, but rather with the two of you. We won't be playing good child, bad child, not in my office. It's my hope I can encourage you and your brother not to play it at all, as it's really very destructive for both of you."
"We're not... playing at anything," Harry objected.
"Playing is perhaps a misnomer, but it is true that you and Draco engage in a certain amount of rivalry, Harry. I've witnessed as much already. He states the simple truth that you were adopted first, and you immediately see a need to correct his version by focusing on intangibles rather than legalities. In so doing, you position yourself as the more understanding, more reasonable son and leave him looking like the ungrateful, intractable son."
Harry would have thought that Draco would feel smug that the therapist was basically rebuking Harry, but apparently the doctor's point about rivalry was well-taken. "I thought this session was supposed to be about me," he repeated, suddenly standing up. "But if all you want to do is talk to Harry, then fine! I'll just cool my heels outside and thank Merlin to be out of your... exceedingly provincial dÈcor!"
"Draco, sit down," Snape ordered.
Draco did, though he made a show of dusting off the sofa cushion, even pretending to find a flea or something. He flicked it away with a disgusted look on his face.
Dr. Goode was hardly fazed. "You were born into great wealth, I understand."
"Do you understand it?" Draco sneered. "In my experience the lesser-born generally don't."
Harry wasn't sure if his brother meant Ron or Harry by that.
"But you aren't wealthy now."
The therapist had scarcely stopped speaking before Draco was throwing a nasty look towards his father. "You keep her pretty well informed, don't you?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "I mentioned your having been disowned by Lucius."
"Oh," said Draco, his lips forming a straight line as he turned back towards Dr. Goode. "So I'm not wealthy now. So what? You'll still get paid, if that's what's worrying you."
Harry managed to resist an impulse to criticise his brother, but the look on his face pretty much spoke for him.
The therapist ignored all of it to say, "You've recently lost all you were born into, including your name--"
"So you're not so well-informed," announced Draco with an air of triumph. "I didn't lose my name, Martha. Changing it was a deliberate decision."
"Marsha. But my point is merely this: you're feeling defensive about your changed circumstances. You take great pains to look down on others because you're anxious not to be mistaken for someone poor, especially now that you are exactly that."
A sly look slid into Draco's eyes. "Maybe I'm not so much defensive as overcompensating."
"I don't believe that's the case, no--"
"Or it could be dislocated personality syndrome," continued Draco in a bored voice. "Or perhaps more a case of manic depression. Do you think I might have a problem with displaced rage?"
"I think you've been reading psychology books."
"Muggle ones," sneered Draco. "And trust me, they don't really apply."
"Of course they do. You're human, aren't you?"
"I don't know," Draco shot back. "Harry, are Slytherins human?"
"I'm still deciding," retorted Harry.
"You self-important prat!"
"Let's just talk normally to the doctor, all right?"
"There you go positioning yourself as the good son!" shouted Draco. "Again!"
"I just meant--" Frustrated, Harry heard his own voice getting louder. "What do you want me to do, start poisoning people too?"
"Only if you want to choke down a poisoned fairy cake like I did, but you probably wouldn't have to, I bet--"