As they walked to their appointment, Harry felt nervous. Strangely, he was more anxious about what he was not going to tell the doctor than what he was. Dr. Goode had been given yet another version of events surrounding the boys' recent disappearance. She was told that during the altercation with their DADA professor, Lucius Malfoy had firecalled Aran regarding a statue he was having delivered, but had then taken the opportunity to hex their teacher and abscond with the boys. The rest of the story was the same except that Harry only seriously injured Draco's father, not killed him. The man was later Obliviated because he'd learned about the Venetimorica incident in questioning the boys. They'd feared he would use the information to get Draco expelled and Severus' custody revoked.
There simply wasn't a decent explanation for why they weren't pressing charges against Malfoy, but that was already true regarding all the things he'd done earlier in the year. Dr. Goode knew about his crimes from Draco's prior sessions. She'd already been told that there was a reason why Lucius couldn't be touched and it was secret.
Part of Harry wanted to tell his therapist everything, but he could see what a bad idea that would be. Precautions needed to be taken in case Dr. Goode was ever compromised. Their father had been willing to risk Voldemort's anger for the sake of his son's therapy by telling her about the abduction, but they couldn't risk the existence of their new spy by telling her of Lucius' death. Harry tended to think the half-truths made the entire venture rather pointless. "I won't be able to tell her the most important parts!" he complained when they'd coordinated their stories. "What if she just thinks I'm a nutter because she doesn't have all the facts? She might not be able to help me at all."
His father agreed that it was regrettable but pointed out that he had his family to confide in and if that wasn't enough he had his closest friends and the headmaster. "I'd even consent to you talking with the werewolf if I thought he could actually make the situation better rather than worse for once," he'd said.
Despite the tangled web of half-truths, his first session with Marsha had gone pretty well, all things considered. For starters, she hadn't stared at his scar at all. Harry didn't know if that was because she'd heard all about him from Draco by then, or if Snape had said something to her. He'd expected her to launch right into talking about the needles, and why he'd done a thing like that, and why he mustn't do it again, but instead, she was letting Harry talk. About whatever he wanted, actually.
Obviously she thought they ought to get to know one another a bit. But that made sense. How could Harry discuss personal things with someone he hardly knew?
So he talked about Quidditch some, and told her what it was like to fly at really fast speeds. Then he felt bad because she looked a little bit jealous from time to time. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for her, to know all about the magical world but be forced to stand outside it.
Or maybe he could, since he'd been all but a squib for a good part of this year. At least he'd had Draco and Snape constantly reassuring him that his magic would be back someday. Marsha knew for certain she'd never have any magic at all.
He hoped Draco didn't rub that in, too much.
When Harry couldn't think of anything more to say about the difference between a Firebolt and an XL, Dr. Goode gently asked how the week had gone so far. Harry knew what she meant by that.
"Well, when I start to feel upset, I get this itchy feeling in my arms," he began. "And . . . well, I guess you know why I'm here."
"What sorts of things have you been finding upsetting?"
Harry paused for a moment to collect his thoughts before answering. He told her about feeling guilty that his brother had gotten more hurt by Lucius than he had. Surprising himself, Harry soon began venting about the fact that everyone seemed to think he was fragile and incompetent and stupid. He found himself talking on and on while she just listened.
When his session was over and Harry went out to the outer room where Snape and Draco were waiting, he found them deep in conversation.
"I only mentioned it so you'd know how annoying that girl can be," Draco was saying. "And because I needed something to alleviate the boredom. The magazines here truly are the most worthless drivel I've ever seen. Honestly, Muggles must be positively brain-damaged--"
He glanced up as Harry cleared his throat, and flushed a little. And no wonder; Dr. Goode was standing right alongside Harry.
"I thought we were working on tolerance," she said softly.
"I am," said Draco staunchly, his colour still high. "I all but implied that Muggles have brains. That's tolerant, isn't it?"
Dr. Goode merely looked at him. A longish stare, her lips pursed.
Draco looked down. "Sorry."
The doctor turned her attention to Snape, then. "I would say that Harry and I had a very productive first session, Professor Snape. I think that at some point in the future, another gathering with the three of us could prove of use, but for the moment I'd prefer to continue seeing each boy alone."
Snape rose to his feet, nodding his thanks. Harry expected them to just go, then. He and Draco had both already had their therapy, after all. But his father had another matter on his mind.
"I've just had it brought to my attention that one of my students might be suffering from . . ." He glanced back at Draco. "What was the term Miss Granger used?"
Draco stood up as well, his features a little mulish. "Dyslexia. Merlin knows I've heard the word enough over the past few days. As if she would notice more about Greg after an hour's studying than I've learned in years and years!"
"Yes, dyslexia," said Snape, ignoring Draco's outburst. "I'd like your professional opinion as to the likelihood of such a condition in a young man nearly grown."
Dr. Goode smoothed her hands down over her skirt. "Oh, dyslexia is by no means limited by age, Professor. Adults can suffer it." She paused slightly, her voice a little hesitant when she resumed. "I take it the young man in question has never learned any compensatory strategies to help him read?"
Snape's own voice was gruff. "It's been widely assumed he was merely . . ."
Dr. Goode had no trouble saying it. "Stupid? That's unfortunate, to say the least."
"But reversing letters?" Draco shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "It's ridiculous. I didn't even believe Hermione when she said it!"
"Brain chemistry--Muggle and wizard brains both," she added dryly, "is a very complex matter." Her look took in Snape, Harry, and Draco. "Does he reverse letters when he writes?"
Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't know."
Draco raised his chin a notch. "I thought it was just bad spelling."
"Professor?"
"I assumed he wasn't putting much effort into his work," Snape admitted. "And that he was . . . slow."
The doctor made a slightly impatient noise. "For goodness' sake. Didn't your course of preparation for teaching include even a rudimentary overview of learning disabilities?"
Snape folded his arms over his chest. It would have looked intimidating if he'd been wearing his robes, Harry thought. In Muggle clothing it just looked defensive. "I'm afraid that education in the wizarding world does not follow Muggle norms," he admitted. "For example, my only course of preparation to teach Potions was to be shown to my classroom. I have a natural affinity for the subject."
Dr. Goode stared at him. "Then how did you learn to teach?"
"By experience."
Harry almost sighed. So that was where Snape's learn-by-experience obsession had come from. Well, at least he seemed to be backing off from it a bit lately. He was brilliant at teaching Defence, even when he wasn't baiting or belittling Aran.