"I'm sorry, did you say he booped you on the nose?"

Draco stared at the psychologist. In his mind's eye, he saw himself holding his wand extended as the American took his last breath, a flash of vivacious green radiance spilling out from the Hawthorn tip. Maybe if he had any other Auror except for Williamson breathing down his neck he'd get some kind of pity and clemency for having to resort to an Unforgivable on the Squib, all for the sake of his masculinity.

"Out of the entire story, why do you have to zero in on that part?" Draco shifted on the stiff couch and glanced out the large windows, where the steel jungle of Muggle London festered and thrived. He'd arrived for his monthly therapy session minutes ago. "Aren't you curious about bloody well everything else?"

"Of course I am," Cobb calmly said. "Your recent amends with Harry is fantastic to hear but booping your nose-"

"-Can we not use that word?-"

"-is something physical. What were you feeling at the time that allowed him to get so close? What did you feel afterwards?"

"Annoyance. Ironically, a similar brand of emotion I'm feeling right now. Well done for making me relive it," the Slytherin spat back, but not nearly with as much scorn as he wanted. Or thought he wanted. Because while he wouldn't admit it aloud to the American, those were brilliant questions to ask. What was he thinking at the time to allow the Gryffindor to get so close? Sure, they buried the wand and were beginning the painstaking process of kindling a friendship crafted from still burning embers, but the Malfoy heir never liked people in his immediate space. Space was a commodity, sometimes rare, that he always cherished more than galleons and gold.

Maybe in that moment with Harry, he'd been disarmed enough with the boy's anguish to allow his own to shine through, to take him back to a bedroom with stars and moons that served as both their prisons. Maybe he found solace in connecting with another as broken as he once was. Had it been months ago, before he began seeing Cobb and worked on building his life back up, he could have related his own pain and misery to Harry's.

"Annoyance is a step up from the closed off young man you used to be when we started meeting." Cobb casually tossed his clipboard, Draco's file, and his pen to his desk, signalling that they were veering off from any agenda the doctor had for the session. "Annoyance. Why annoyance?"

Draco dropped his gaze down to his lap, eyeing the random white-washed patterns on his muggle jeans. "People die. That's what we do without failure. Some people die sooner than others. And some have the luxury of knowing when and how that'll happen. Dying of an illness isn't the most glorious way to go out, not the sort that I think a Gryffindor dreams of - you know, self-sacrifice and tears and dramatics - but do you know how much honor there is in dying?" He didn't wait for an answer. "None."

A blaring fire truck with its sirens wailing fought through the congested traffic below their tower. "Have you always held that belief? Even before your own recent brush with death during the flooding?"

The Slytherin laughed ruefully. "I've had more brushes with death in the past twelve months than most do in their lifetime, some spontaneous and others I very well knew I was marching into. You really think a flood would change my view on death?"

Cobb didn't miss a beat. "Did it?"

Neither did Draco. "A bit."

That was why the teen continued seeing the American doctor; he wasn't afraid to call his bluffs, to ask the bolded, obvious questions that were usually hidden under Draco's natural airs of arrogance and sarcasm. Their conversation launched into a depthful discussion of the teen's sudden realization that he couldn't loiter and wait to pursue what he wanted, whether that be progressing his family's new lab, becoming the best healer, or marrying the smartest witch of her age. The first two aspirations were well underway, and he proudly spoke about the leaps and bounds the lab was making while only being in its first year of production. He had an interview arranged with some official at Cambridge, undoubtedly bought by his father's bottomless pockets, and he felt confident in being able to sway the Muggle in solidifying his acceptance to the school.

"And your foundations classes? How are those going?" Cobb asked when they broached the topic of him preparing for muggle uni.

Draco hesitated for a moment, not one to readily admit when he was challenged. It was true that his parents afforded the best tutors and governors for him during his boyhood years, teaching him everything from intense literature to Greek rhetoric. A naturally scholastic individual with an enthusiastic mind eager to learn more, he took to school and lessons quickly, always striving to be the best in all of his academics. But he missed out on the essential academic components of muggle curriculum: modern chemistry, physics, biology. Science and technology. He was delving into a world, specifically his area of study, within a realm that he was attempting to navigate partially blind.

Partially because he was still a Malfoy and had no doubt in his ability to adapt and persevere.

He was learning what a human cell was and how it functioned, what radiation was and how science converted energy, all in tandem while learning how to work a VCR and why you couldn't pick up a phone while also accessing the World Wide Web, more casually called an 'internet' but Draco didn't understand where the shortened name came from. He was expected to get stellar, near perfect NEWTs while also covering over a decade of muggle education. Had it been anyone else other than the perfection-driven Slytherin, he doubted they'd have the discipline and grit to see it through.

In the end, Draco told Cobb how he, surprisingly, enjoyed nuclear science the most, the concepts so close to the mysterious art of alchemy that he had doubts that they weren't related. Science wasn't so much different from magic, with the sole difference being that humans were directly in control of the outcome or effect rather than an intangible force. Science was brusque and confusing and complex, all for the added benefit of achieving what magic could do in mere seconds. Muggles worked harder for what could naturally come to a wizard. They needed intelligence, countless disciplines, and intense study to accomplish the feats that they did. Like keeping a tower standing in the middle of muggle London, or transporting hundreds cross country in a metal contraption that flew among the clouds.

Or leaving the planet. Magic had yet to accomplish that. In fact, Draco was learning that there were quite a few limitations their wizarding society self-imposed.

"I like the internet," the teen blurted out as a gentle rain began to pelt the office window. "It's like a library - the biggest library I've ever been too - shrunken into one little box. I don't have to fight to find a book, or if I have a question on something I can find the answer rather fast." The words tasted bitter as they formed on his tongue. "We don't have that. Our knowledge is more… difficult to find. Limited to books and lectures, and access to books isn't always open."

Knowledge was the energy source of societies. When knowledge was stunted and didn't move easily across a culture, the culture rarely evolved, so stuck in the same ways without any avenue of deviation or introduction of new thoughts. Muggles, Draco was quickly realizing, didn't have that issue. Their technology flourished with open access to discussions, immediate communication without the reliance on fire, and manipulating natural elements to make it all work.

Their conversation shifted from his anticipation for his future career - a sterling one at that, a diamond that was recently reshined and found its lost glimmer - to his relationship with Hermione. That was a complicated topic he wasn't too interested to jump into the intricacies with the doctor, innately closed off about his intimate life. Strange that it was just as hard to talk about the happiest part of his life as it was the most painful. Intense emotions, either the warm, tender ones or the sordid kind, were never easy topics to broach. Either you didn't want to relive the pain or you didn't want to risk ruining the best thing of your life by allowing it to be dissected and discussed in the open world.

"I've decided that I'm going to propose to her," the Slytherin slowly admitted, straining his words through a mental sieve to give just enough detail without any emotional baggage he wasn't prepared to unpack. "Been talking to Goldstein about how I want to do it. Got a plan finally, I think."

Cobb arched his brows. "A plan?"

"Right. I don't want to just…" the blonde made a vague hand gesture. "I can't just bluntly fall to a knee and bloody ask her. That's… not what she deserves."

"What do you think she deserves?"

Images of Hermione, emblazoned by her Gryffindor pride and blind bravery, self-sacrificing qualities, and stubborn bossiness flashed into Draco's mind. If he had to pick a moment when he really fell for the witch, he'd be hard pressed to determine if it was when she bested him in all their First Year classes or the well-aimed slap in Third Year. Despite how much time passed, he would swear he still felt the tingle of a phantom touch on his cheek, inciting a jolting mix of pain and surprise. Never had he been hit before. Never had he been truly challenged by another academically. Never before had he felt like he found his equal until he met her.

"I dunno," Draco mumbled with a quick shake of his head, readjusting himself on the couch. It was nothing short of a miracle that Dumbledore allowed him to keep attending the therapy sessions. One of the added benefits of being estranged with the rest of his House was that no one inquired on where he slipped off too. In previous years, he would've had an entourage questioning his comings and goings, but now no one really cared. At the most, Hala always gave him a wistful smile when he returned, almost relieved that he was back. "A Gryffindor probably dreams of a marriage proposal after saving a burning orphanage or freeing some dragons about to be poached."

The teen explained to the doctor his plan for his proposal, with his inclusion of Harry being the closest to satisfying the 'burning orphanage' criteria and himself as the dragon, if namesakes counted. The fact that the Slytherin decided he needed to talk to Harry and Ron at all about it surprised him more than Cobb. But the two other boys were her best friends, unblooded brothers, and knew her the best. Any future with Hermione would include them as well. They both came to terms that there were aspects of their lives they'd have to learn to accept; she grudgingly agreed to learn his Pureblood society ways and he agreed to stomach the other thirds of their Golden Trio.

He didn't need their advice on how to propose; he had a plan already for that and was working with Anthony Goldstein to make it a reality, his new friendship with the Ravenclaw pleasantly developing into something casual and unexpected. They often talked about schoolwork, international banking news, finances and business, the latest theory in numerology, and debated the efficacy of curse breakers current arithmancy curriculum. It was a refreshing friendship free of expectations and diplomatic weaves, neither one approaching the other with a hidden agenda. They were simply friends, at least for now. In the future, as Draco planned to progress through his education and take a more active role at his family's corporations, he had plans to enlist his friendship with the Ravenclaw in the domains of banking and finance, knowing full well Goldstein would follow his parents footsteps to become a banking tycoon. And knowing Goldstein's pragmatic mind, he had no doubts the other wizard would welcome a quasi-professional relationship with the Malfoy, filling the role as a financial advisor.

The session with Cobb progressed past his healthy relationship with his soon-to-be fiance and jumped into the tumultuous topic of his parents, as confusing as they were. His father stepped up where parenting was a concern, filling a role that had been vacant for almost all of Draco's life. Since boyhood, the silver-haired patriarch kept his heir at an arm's distance, instilling pride and fear and slippery morals with equally slippery methods. There were few memories the teen had of his father acting like a storybook parent, and most of those memories existed only in make believe. In the past year, though, Lucius Malfoy emerged from the shattered shell of his former self, becoming that pretend father from Draco's fantasies.

But Draco was seventeen already. A teenager but one of age and well past the years in need of a shoulder to cry on, a strong body to lean against, a voice of reason to soil and sow morals. Or so he thought, as all boys his age did.

"And where do things fall with your mother?" Cobb asked in that gentle voice he used when touching on a painful nerve.

"Too busying being conflicted over colour palettes and drapery swatches," the teen sharply retorted. "I almost drowned and she couldn't even be bothered to check on me, could she? But she'll suddenly clear her schedule to have tea with a painter from Austria if it means getting some art for the manor. That's where things fall with her. I'm considered less important than art."

They talked more about his mother, or rather Cobb did his best to get the young wizard to contemplate and introspect on what their dynamic shifted into. In truth, Draco didn't have the stomach or mind for it, not after only one parent arrived at Hogwarts in the dead of night while the other remained kilometers away in Wiltshire. But neither did Draco have the stomach or mind to admit to Cobb that the only thing he was looking forward to was the end of term, when he could make good on his father's promise to make living arrangements to leave his mother. Maybe if he was a different person, a better person with better morals and ideals and a natural benevolent streak, he'd feel guilt for the strain he was placing on his parents' marriage. But no matter how far he looked, he couldn't find anything even remotely close to guilt.

Because while he might've done good things from an outsider's perspective, perspective was the key term. Everything shifted when one angle did as well.

As the session was drawing closer towards its end, the rain outside pitter pattering more sensually, Cobb inquired on the Slytherin's friends, especially the new ones that were once coined as 'enemies'. It was a lighter topic, but no less one that Draco sluiced and diluted in heavy doses before feeling confident enough to answer. Picking at some non-existent fuzzies on the hem of his shirt, the blonde distantly described his relationships as if he were reciting a potion mixing instruction. However, his voice did warm up, a modest chuckle coerced from his throat, when he recalled a specific interaction with the unlikely group.

"They want me to get a Ouija board," the heir recalled, brows drawn together slightly at the memory. "Or rather, bring the one that my family has at the manor to school. Weasley's bint for a girlfriend thought holding a seance would be bloody fun. Obviously her knowledge in the dark artefact is lacking." He thought about how eager and excited she looked compared to his horror-stricken, hesitant reaction to the suggestion. A downright awful, fatalist suggestion, which was probably why the Gryffindor even suggested it.

Cobb looked surprised. "And you agreed?"

"Not right away, no. The muggle of all people, Dudley, said he had a board. I should've known it was a bunch of bollocks when he made it seem like no big deal that he had one. He can't use magic - why would he have a board?!" He shook his head at the memory. "A few days later, he came back with this 'board' and showed me, Hermione, Weasley and his witch. It was…" His face contorted into disgust as he fought for the word to describe the replica. "It was fake! Like cheap cardboard with some flipsy sticker over the top! He said he got it from the store, in the board game section!"

The fact that Cobb looked amused and on the verge of laughing made Draco see red. What was wrong with Muggles?

"Ah, yes. Ouija boards are something of a… novelty game for muggles. You can find them in department stores. They're not magical though."

Draco blinked A non-magical board was considered a fun pastime for muggles? A board with a history deeply entrenched in summoning dark creatures and spirits with the intent to enslave and force them to do a wizard's bidding was looked at as a game for muggles? The entire concept, the mere thought, was mind boggling.

"I'd be arrested if I showed up at Hogwarts with a ouija board- a real ouija board," Draco countered, repulsion dripping between his words. "You know, the real-deal with the board made out of human skin and the planchette sculpted from a sun-bleached skull."

"So after you saw the fake Muggle board and your friends asked you to get the 'real deal', you told them no? That it's too dangerous of a tool?"

It was a sensible guess. Too bad for Cobb, his young patient was running dry of sensibilities where dark magic was a concern. He was a true Malfoy, drawn to the darkness much like a firefly was drawn to the flame.

"Of course not," the Slytherin scoffed. "I told them I'd bring it at the end of the month, after I go home to get my formal robes for the ridiculous ball the school decided to throw. I'll obviously be smart about it, hide the board, and immediately drop it off afterwards at the Hogsmeade safehouse my father set up for me. I can shrink it and then carry it in my animagus form."

"You're going to carry a highly illegal item in your highly illegal form."

It was poetic, at the very least. Draco smirked humorlessly. "If that's the way you want to look at it, then so be it. But hey, weren't you the one who was chirping on about getting along with others? About making new friends?"

Cobb was bound by confidentiality not to leak Draco's illicit movements and activities, but based on the tense chuckles from the man, Draco was sure Cobb would've if he could've. He was a good man, carved from a rock much more refined and pure than Draco was, even with his sterling pedigree. For all of his deafness in magic, he wasn't blinded from what was in front of him, instead being able to see things that people couldn't, could recognize the blemishes and unpolished finishes, could look past the austere exterior to the true depths of what lay within someone. He was a better man than Draco was, and Draco hated that he could so easily admit his shortcomings when placed beside the psychologist.

"The end of term is coming up," Cobb gently reminded, a brow hiked up to drive his point home. "What are your thoughts on keeping your promise to your soon-to-be fiance and family about signing up on the animagus registry? When do you plan on doing that?"

Draco looked out the window, watching the churning storm overhead release its fury in mouthfuls of spit. Rain drenched London, flooding the streets and teeny cars below, but there wasn't a speck of lightning among the overcast skyline. It was a rainstorm and nothing more. And he needed more.

The Slytherin looked back at the squib. "Soon."