6A/N: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
A/N: Blind acceptance and an occasional leap of faith may be required for different aspects of this story, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless :-)
New Therapy for War Survivors
St. Mungo's has developed a new therapy program for those who survived The Second Wizarding War against You-Know-Who. This new program is still in the testing stages and Healers are looking for volunteers for data collection. If interested, please contact St. Mungo's at your earliest convenience.
Twelve men and women sit in a large conference room waiting for the meeting to start.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. As you all know, many people have been affected by the war in various ways; however, there has been an increase in the number of people coming into St. Mungo's seeking Dreamless Sleep potions and other potions to help keep nightmares at bay. Because of this increase, we have developed a new therapy that uses boggarts to help people face—and hopefully overcome—their fears in a safe environment. Today, we will be viewing footage of some high profile test subjects and evaluating whether or not this program should be approved for future use. If everyone could please direct their attention to the monitor."
Percy
Percy enters the small room the assistant directed him towards and stands there. "Hello? Is anyone here?" He hears a noise and turns towards it noticing a filing cabinet in the corner. A filing cabinet that is shaking. Moving towards the cabinet, Percy opens the drawer and jumps back scrambling for his wand. Remembering that the assistant confiscated his wand upon arrival, Percy tries the door only to find that it has been locked. Knocking on the door he calls out, "Excuse me. There is a boggart in here. Can you please do something about that?" He pauses, but no answer is heard. Shouting louder he says, "Excuse me—"
You betrayed your family.
Turning towards the voice Percy asks, "What?"
You're no son of ours.
"Mum? Dad?" Percy begins walking towards his parents, but they become blurry at the edges the closer he gets to them.
You chose them over us.
"No, I didn't. I never meant to—"
Your brother is dead because of you.
"I tried to save him. I swear I did. It happened so fast. I didn't—" Percy pleads.
We always pretended you weren't really our brother.
"Ron? Ginny? Why would you say that?"
No one likes you.
Percy tries to back away from all the voices, but they keep coming at him. He hits the wall and starts to slide down it as the voices become louder and more forceful.
You're pompous.
"George, don't say that."
And arrogant.
"Bill, no," he whimpers.
And boring.
Percy stays on the floor with his hands covering his ears as he chants, "I didn't mean to" over and over again. The voices surround him, coming at him from all sides.
No one can stand being near you.
We don't want you in our family anymore.
We wish you died instead.
Percy stops chanting and in the silence he whispers, "I do too."
Hermione
Hermione opens the door and enters a comfy looking room. She closes the door behind her and spots a bookshelf across the way. She begins walking towards it when she hears something. Unable to locate where the sound is coming from, Hermione continues walking. Hearing it again, she turns in a circle and notices a small music box shaking on the table. Walking towards it, she opens up the box and suddenly the entire room plunges into darkness. Her breathing speeds up as her eyes try to adjust to the sudden lack of light. Her stance changes to the one she used during the Battle at Hogwarts. Hermione hears a creak behind her and whips around.
You thought you got away from me didn't you, mudblood?
Hermione takes in a sharp breath: she knows that voice. "No," she whispers. It can't be her.
Is the itty bitty mudblood scared?
That cackle. No, it's not real. "You're not real." She circles around Hermione, hair wild and arrogance abundant. Hermione's breathing quickens as she tries to find an escape route. There is nowhere to go, but her eyes keep darting around the room every few seconds in a vain attempt to find something.
You're nothing but filth under my feet.
Hermione stiffens and begins to fold into herself as the taunts grow louder.
You should be on the floor where you belong.
She trembles slightly and her legs start to give out.
No one wants trash like you.
Collapsing to the floor, Hermione closes her eyes and whispers, "It's not real. It's not real. This isn't happening."
You're worthless.
You're scum.
Hermione places her hand on the underside of her left forearm, tracing the letters inscribed there.
He's never going to love you.
She closes her eyes as the footsteps stop right in front of her. She feels the breath on her face as the taunting whispers continue.
How could he love something as disgusting as you?
Hermione whimpers.
No matter.
The footsteps start to move away, the clicking of heels growing faint.
I made sure I stopped the continuation of your kind.
Your filthy bloodline will end with you.
A loud, insane burst of laughter fills the room as Hermione lies prone on the floor, still stroking her scarred arm.
George
George walks over to the shelf opposite the door he has just entered through and notices some of his products sitting there. He begins to reach for them when he hears the door close behind him. Turning, he is shocked to see the person standing before him. As if reading his mind she smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.
Surprised to see me?
George nods as he tries to comprehend what is happening.
I don't know why.
She walks towards him, inching closer and closer. George reaches for her, but she stops just out of his grasp.
You're always questioning the reason I'm with you.
"I don't know what you're talking about," George says slowly.
She looks at him shaking her head.
"Don't lie, Georgie."
"I'm not—"
It's obvious, isn't it?
She leans so that there is barely any space between the two.
I never loved you.
George pales at the words leaving her mouth.
I loved him.
"No. You always said—" George begins.
But he's gone.
She walks away from him and doesn't stop until she is across the room. She turns and faces him with a look of disgust.
So now I'm stuck with you.
Standing there dumbstruck, all George can do is stare with eyes wide.
He was always the better half.
George's breathing becomes rapid as tears begin to form in his eyes.
Funnier.
"No," he whispers.
Smarter.
"No," he says louder.
She walks over to him again, now with a mirror in her hands. She hangs it on the wall behind him and turns George so he is facing it.
You know, sometimes I pretend that you're really him and at times, oh at times it works.
George looks up into the mirror and sees her behind them—him.
And when it doesn't, I grab the firewhiskey and drink until it does work.
She leans over his shoulder to stroke the image in the mirror.
Who has the last laugh now?
Walking away, her laugh grows louder when she hears the shattering of the mirror behind her.
Draco
The first thing Draco notices upon entering the room is how similar it is to the Slytherin common room back at Hogwarts. Unimpressed with the chosen atmosphere, Draco sits upon a comfy looking emerald chair to wait. After a few minutes of nothing, he suddenly stiffens when he hears the soft tap of a cane meeting the floor. "Who did you bribe to come here, Father?"
You are a disappointment to this family.
Turning in the chair, Draco stares at his father. "I'm a disappointment? Take a look in the mirror, Father, and you will see what a disappointment looks like."
You've failed in every way possible.
Eyes narrowing, Draco stands up and faces his father with a straight back.
Our line was pure and you have destroyed it.
"Pure? You cannot possibly still be caught up in that nonsense. Have you forgotten what your 'pureness' cost our family?" Scoffing Draco continues, "Get with the times, Father. No one cares about blood purity anymore. It's a thing of the past." Draco walks away from his father, trying to put some distance between them.
How can you turn your back on everything I have taught you? I sacrificed everything for you, given you everything you ever wanted.
Draco's face contorts in anger as he faces his father, "You have given me nothing. You forced things upon me. I never asked for them. I never wanted them."
No. You want that abomination.
Draco glares at his father before replying, "Abomination? You're the abomination. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me."
She'll never want you.
Draco body tenses at this. "She. Loves. Me," he says as he tries to remain calm. In an attempt to tune his father out, Draco turns away from him.
Her friends are never going accept you.
His father's slow footsteps, accompanied by the sound of his cane, approach Draco. Grabbing Draco's left arm, he pulls up the sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark still etched there. Draco reaches to cover it, but his father stops him.
They are never going to forget what you did, who you were.
"I'm not that person anymore. I was never that person," Draco says trying to convince himself as much as his father.
And no matter how much you try to change, they won't let you.
Draco's voice loses the anger that was present earlier. "I have changed," he whispers as he slowly begins to hunch over. His father lets go of the arm bearing the Dark Mark and Draco covers it with his other hand.
You'll just be a failure.
Walking away from his son, he smirks at the damage left there.
Like. Always.
Draco stands there, still covering the Dark Mark present on his left arm, breathing heavily.
St. Mungo's Pulls New Therapy Program
It was announced today that the experimental new therapy program that St. Mungo's created for war survivors has been put on an indefinite hold. When asked what caused this new therapy to be shutdown during its testing stages, St. Mungo's officials responded with, "No comment." Many speculations have been made concerning this cancellation, but none have been reported to be true.
The clicking of heels is the only noise heard in the bowels of St. Mungo's as a petite woman floats a box in front of her. Reaching a safe in the back corner, she quietly mumbles a spell that opens the door to the safe and levitates the box into it. Peeking into the box, she makes sure that the contents are in one piece before resealing the box. The words "Boggart Therapy: Failure" written in red are seen on the box as the door to the safe closes. Locking it with a spell the young woman walks away, humming quietly to herself.