Harry's jaw dropped open. Snape had never left during one of their sessions before! He always stayed right there in the waiting room.
"Good show, Harry," Draco snarled, the minute the door had closed behind Snape. "You're driving Dad to drink!"
"Oh, like I was the one who just ruined a perfectly good dinner out--"
"Come through, please," said Marsha. "I haven't time to waste, this evening."
Inside her office, Harry took the chair nearest the window and wasn't surprised when Draco took the one furthest away from it. "None of that," said Marsha, shaking her head. "Both of you, on the sofa. Now, what seems to be the matter?"
Instead of answering, Harry opened the drawer where she kept the cinnamon gum he chewed during sessions, and helped himself. Not that he probably needed the almost painful tang of it in his mouth just now; he hadn't been feeling like scratching his arms.
Well, not much.
He did think, however, that if he didn't do something he might give in to temptation and hit Draco. The gum helped him hold down that instinct, though Harry couldn't help but wonder, with dark humour, about the claim that his instincts were generally good.
"The problem?" asked Marsha again, glancing pointedly at the two of them.
"Draco's annoyed that he had to go out to dinner with his family when he wanted to be with Rhiannon, instead."
"Harry's annoyed that somebody was honest, for once, with his cousin."
Marsha leaned forward in her chair, her expression fierce with resolve. "I don't want to hear anything else in that vein. You can talk about your own feelings. You don't ascribe feelings to any other person. Is that clear?"
Yeah, yeah, it was clear. Harry had heard it all before. "All right, fine. I feel that Draco would rather have been with his girlfriend, and was determined to make sure we all knew it!"
"Not true," snapped Draco. "I was perfectly happy to let Rhiannon rehearse tonight. I care about her career, in case it's escaped your notice. I wasn't the one who started things!"
Harry gaped. "What do you call throwing soda in Piers' face?"
"He deserved a lot worse for the way he was talking to you!"
"And what did Dudley do to deserve being called fat, stupid, and lazy?"
"Well, he is all those things, Harry! The only mystery is why you don't see it for yourself!"
"All you see, all you ever see, about anyone, is a bloodline! And Dudley's doesn't measure up!"
"You're damn straight it doesn't."
At that moment, Harry wondered how he ever, ever could have believed that Draco Malfoy could change. And he was thinking Malfoy, not Snape. This, all this . . . it was pure Malfoy. "And to think, Dad had this bizarre idea that dating Rhiannon might actually be a good thing, might make you less of a total racist, but you're ten times worse than before! You used to be able to talk to Dudley without dumping crap all over him, at least."
Draco jerked himself backwards, much as if he'd just been slapped. His eyes went a stormy grey. "You think my problem with him is that he's a Muggle?"
"Well, it's either that or you're having the painters in!"
"What?"
Dr Goode cleared her throat. "That's a reference to a young lady's time of the month, Draco."
Draco clenched his jaw even as a wave of colour swept into his face. "Calling me a girl, are you?"
"No, he's not," said Marsha, holding up a hand. "And we're not going to allow this to degenerate into insults. What Harry was doing, somewhat ineffectually, was expressing frustration with your behaviour. Is that correct, Harry?"
Harry gave a stiff nod and bit down hard on his gum.
"Now, Draco, perhaps you could answer Harry's question."
Draco's forehead furrowed. "Question?"
"Why you decided to insult Harry's cousin. You intimated that something set you off?"
Draco scowled. "Well, I wasn't too happy being forced to get in one of those death-traps after I'd just spent ten minutes watching them crash into each other."
Oh . . . yeah, that news programme had included some footage of a collision on the M5. Not ten minutes of it, though. "You're seriously going to claim that you were terrified of the car, and that's the cause of all this?" Harry's nostrils flared. "I think you'd better give up Quidditch, then. It's a hell of a lot more dangerous than a short ride through Surrey."
"Scared, Potter? You don't want the competition? I'm going to outfly you so hard next year, you'll wake up wondering what year it is!"
"You wish!"
Marsha suddenly got up and yanked open a cabinet door. Fetching something out, she whirled on a heel and tossed it to Harry. He found himself holding what looked like a cylindrical pillow mounted on a padded stick. Another one went flying through the air towards Draco. "Go on," said Marsha, her hands planted on her hips. "Get it out of your systems! I might not have mentioned this yet, but I don't have time for this tonight, and I'm not about to send you back to your father still squabbling like four year-olds. Go on, then, hit each other!"
Immediately ashamed, Harry tossed his pillow-thing onto the coffee table in front of the sofa.
It didn't help his mood that in the same instant, Draco used his to bonk Harry over the head. Hard.
"Ow! You prat!"
Draco hurriedly dropped his to one side, his face flaming. "Er . . . sorry."
"Are you ready to talk like adults?" Her tone spoke volumes. Finally . . . that was what she meant.
"Yes," said Harry, nodding.
"Yes," said Draco, a good deal more grudgingly, in Harry's view.
"Good," said the doctor, sitting back down. "So, Draco. It was your first time in a car, I take it? And it bothered you so very much?"
Draco shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "Well, it didn't help, but I was already pretty annoyed by then."
Harry resisted an impulse to say, Yeah, I noticed. "Piers being a jerk isn't anything to do with Dudley."
Draco closed his eyes then, looking strangely like he was praying. For patience, maybe. "I'm not talking about Piers. You obviously can't stand him, so enough said. It's just . . . I don't understand why you can stand your cousin. He's a horrible person!"
"Because he's a Muggle!"
"No, not because he's a Muggle! I'm in love with a Muggle, Harry. That is not what I meant."
"Oh, that explains why you mentioned breeding."
Draco's eyes snapped open. "I was talking about his parents when I said that, not Muggles in general. Those fucking Dursleys and what they did to you--" Draco slouched down a little. "Their son was part of it. He used to watch his parents lock you in that cupboard, watch them starve you, Harry. Doesn't that bother you?"
Harry clenched his fists. "That wasn't Dudley's fault."
"It's his fault he didn't sneak you some food. He could have. You know he could have. You were treated like nothing growing up, and he was a part of it. Why the hell are you going to so much trouble to include him in your life?"
Harry's mouth went dry, gum or no gum. "That's why you were so upset with Dudley, tonight? Because of me?"
Draco's jaw clenched for a moment. "I know what it's like when someone just stands by and watches something awful going on, Harry. A wizard's beating, for example!"
Oh . . . no wonder Draco was so upset. This wasn't only about Harry, it was about Draco, too. About how he felt about his mother, who had done nothing to stop Lucius' vicious idea of discipline. Who had renounced her parental rights when Lucius had decided Draco was unfit to remain his son . . .
But the two situations were hardly parallel. "Come on, Draco. Dudley was just a child. What was he going to do to stop his parents?"