Chapter 2: A Rude Awakening

Hermione awoke screaming, her shrieks of terror filled the Granger's house, reverberating off of the walls in a disharmonious din. She sat bolt upright in bed, sobbing uncontrollably as the pounding footsteps of her parents feet grew louder on the landing. Horrible visions of the nightmare still danced in front of Hermione's eyes as she desperately clawed at the bed covers. The knife. The spray of blood from the old man's neck. The little girls sobbing shrieks of pain and dismay. The old man's gaping mouth gasping bubbles of frothy crimson as he desperately tried to cling to life.

"Hermione!"

The door to Hermione's small room banged open, and her parents ran inside. Her mother gathered her up in her arms and rocked her gently while her father checked the windows and peered down into the street for any intruders.

"Hush now darling." Soothed her mother. "You're with me now. You're alright."

Hermione clutched at her mother's dressing gown in terror and buried her face in the crook of her mothers arm, sobbing wildly.

Hermione's father, satisfied that the house was still secure, sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed her back in slow calming motions.

Slowly, the terrible vision began to fade, and Hermione's racking sobs became less and less violent until they faded into sniffling hiccups.

"What was it dear?" Asked her mother. "Was it another nightmare?"

"It w—was the boy again." Stammered Hermione miserably. "He was— He killed somebody. He had a knife and— and—"

It was too much for her, and Hermione collapsed back into fresh tears. Behind her, Hermione's parents exchanged worried a worried glance. Her father leaned in and scooped his distraught daughter into his arms.

"Come now, love. Let's take you downstairs. Your mother will put some tea on."

Her father lifted her gently and carried her out of the room. Hermione draped her arms around her father's scruffy neck, hiccuping and feeling slightly embarrassed. They moved down to the sitting room, where her father seated her on the couch and her mother went into the kitchen to put on a kettle of water.

Soon, surrounded by her parents, with a mug of hot spiced tea in hand, Hermione was feeling much calmer. The terror of the dream was already fading into obscurity; the sharp images of blood and an old man's violent death seemed distant and out of focus now.

"Hermione dear," Approached her mother tentatively. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes mum."

Hermione's eyes drooped as she sipped on the hot tea. She felt warm and sleepy, and it was not long before her father was removing the half-empty mug from his daughters slackened grip, less it spill over.

her mother covered Hermione with a large blanket, which she snuggled into, eyes half lidded, before her mother glanced meaningfully at her father and nodding to the kitchen. Her parents retreated into the kitchen where she could hear the clank of the kettle and the groan of the wooden chairs as they sat at the square kitchen table.

Hermione listened to their whispered conversation, only half awake, from far away

"She nodded off a bit quickly." Said her father.

"Yes, well, I imagine she was tired after that ordeal."

Silence.

"…and I may have given her a bit of something to help calm her down." Her mother said.

"Ah, I thought you might have."

she could hear her father sipping from his tea, as the kitchen again went silent. Hermione was almost asleep when her mother spoke again

"David, what are we going to do?" Her mother said

"I don't know dear." Her father said tiredly.

It was a conversation Hermione knew they had often. As a young child, she had been victim to occasional nightmares just as any other young girl. But, as Hermione had grown older, the night terrors had become more and more frequent and more violent. Often she awoke to visions of a young boy and girl being beaten or abused. These dreams, strange and horrible, had confounded her parents. They could not understand how such thoughts had gotten into their daughters head. The way they talked often made Hermione feel… tainted. They had cut her off from violent television shows, tried different diets, and long trips to the country. They had even gone so far as to alienate themselves from other parents with strange accusations of exposing Hermione to inappropriate shows or games. It made little difference in the end. The dreams persisted regardless.

"I think," her father spoke at last, "That it's time we brought Hermione to a specialist."

"David… do you really think it's gotten that serious?"

"Eli," David whispered exasperatedly, "She's almost 11. We thought these dreams were something that she would outgrow, but this has been going on for years. This simply isn't normal for a girl her age."

Hermione felt tears come to her eyes at this. 'Not normal'... It wasn't the first time she had heard it, though seldom from her parents. Her parents loved her, she knew, but there was no denying that odd things happened around Hermione of which the dreams were merely the most notable and the most persistent.

Once when she had been at her grandmothers house in London, she had shattered a decorative piece of fine china that was resting on the table, in an attempt to be helpful and clear the table for suppertime. She was amazed to find when her parents came running to her wailing despair, that not only was the china whole and undamaged, but that there now seemed to be two identical pieces of china, half the thickness of the first. Her grandmother said the pieces must have been glued together into a single piece long ago, and no one would listen to her when she described how it had broken on the floor only a moment earlier.

When Hermione was eight, she had been playing with a group of kids from the neighborhood when one of the other children had taken her dollie. She had tried desperately to get it back, only to find herself one moment on the street, and the next in her bedroom with the doll, a firetruck, and a toy from each of the other children. She had been avoided by the little boys and girls after that.

Everywhere she went, strange and inexplicable things happened around her. Could she really blame her father for thinking she was abnormal?

Her mother was clattering around the kitchen again.

"Lots of young girls and boys have night terrors David."

"Nightmares that are always about the same thing? No. Normal children have nightmares, but they're about scary monsters or something they saw on the tele late at night when they shouldn't have been watching. Hermione has nightmares about people beating children and committing murders."

"You're right of course." Her mother said. Hermione fealt her heart sink horribly."I wish that I could explain what's happening to her, but I can't."

Her mother paused. "If we are to do this though, I want us to find someone we trust. I'll not have some hack messing about in our daughters head."

At this her father let out a deep chuckle. Hermione felt numb and tired. she wasn't sure what to think anymore.

"Of course, dear." her father said.

It was a long while after her parents had retreated back to their bedroom that Hermione finally drifted off into fretful and restless sleep.

When Hermione awoke the next morning at her mother's prodding, it was to the palatable aroma of coffee and bacon wafting in from the kitchen. She was confused and groggy, but with her mother's tender care, a full breakfast, and a quick shower, she was soon feeling much better. As horrible as the dream last night had been, she found (as she often did) that the terrible details had faded into obscurity, leaving only a vague ache of her late night distress. Similarly, now that the dream was gone, it was easier to forget her father's words of the night before.

This will be the last time I have these dreams, she promised herself.

As she dressed and brushed her teeth, she wondered for the umpteenth time who these people were that plagued her restless sleep. Were they people from a movie? Perhaps she had read about characters similar to these in one of the books she had perused in the library. If so, she wished she had never read that book. The dreams were as exhausting as they were frightening and more oft than not left her brain in a state of half weariness.

Really, she just tried not to think about it as much as possible.

But, for Hermione. Such things were not possible. Her mind was constantly churning with ideas. All she had to do was relax for a moment and her thoughts would wander back to the abused dark haired girl, her brother, and the gloomy manor in which they resided.

Hermione was not a fool. It had already occurred to her that these dreams might be representative of some sort of inner psychological conflict. She had read about such things in in books she had come across during her trips to the library. But what demons could possibly possess her to have such freakishly vivid nightmares?

Well, actually, she could think of a few.

Perhaps the constant bullying and teasing she had received at school was a factor. Maybe she felt emotional distance from her parents despite their efforts to make her feel normal and accepted. And perhaps… perhaps there really was something wrong with her head, some loose wiring making her see visions in the deepest parts of the night.

It made her ill to imagine, so she tried to force the thought from her brain.

Consequently however, when Hermione finally descended the steps from the upper floor, it did not surprised her when her parents met her at the foot of the stairs and informed her that they were making a trip into town to meet a therapist. Her father had made calls to his colleagues at the dental practice and found a therapist that specialized in helping children with odd phobias.

Hermione tried to control her emotions as she put on her coat and shoes and followed her mum and dad out to the family car. Still, she could not prevent some tears from running down the side of her cheek. In many ways this latest update to her young life merely confirmed what she had feared for so long – she was a freak and there was something seriously the matter with her.

As Hermione began to sob softly, her mother, noticing the tears, closed the door to the car and wrapped her in a loving embrace.

"Th-there's something wrong with me isn't there?" Hermione cried into her mother's arm.

"Hush now, darling. There is nothing wrong with you." Her mother soothed, "We love you, and you are so special."

"B-b-but these dreams…"

"…are not your fault." Her mother said firmly.

"But I heard you and dad say last night…"

Her mother turned and shot a glare at where her father stood by the car.

"Hermione… You are beautiful and wonderful young girl. You're father and I are so proud of you. We are only taking you to see this doctor because we think she can help you with the nightmares, to because we think there is something wrong with you."

"Ok," Hermione sniffled. Her mother always knew how to calm her down, but she couldn't entirely shake the fear that she would meet with the doctor and be pronounced horribly inept or mentally unstable. Or worse, abnormal.

Her mother ended the embrace and opened the back passenger door for her. Hermione climbed into the backseat and buckled herself in, trying to concentrate her attention on the project she was going to turn in on Monday rather than the large knot of anxiety tightening in her chest.

Soon they were backing down the driveway and trundling along the quiet morning suburbs. Hermione stared out the window at the blurred shapes of houses and gardens flashing past, but her mind was far and away from the deep greens and browns of the August scenery.

Briefly, Hermione considered lying to the doctor. She would say that the dreams were of a monster or some other normal childhood phobia. But, Hermione knew that her parents would be disappointed with her if she was not truthful. She could not say why the idea of telling a therapist about the dreams made her so uncomfortable, except that she was absolutely certain that no little girl should be dreaming of murderous 10-year-olds.

She wanted nothing more than to be a normal little girl. She wanted nothing more than to have friends and people who liked her - people who would talk to here and spend time with her. But, she could never have these things, she knew. People did not understand her; were often intimidated by her.

Such thoughts clouded Hermione's mind as the Grangers drove from the suburbs into the bustling streets of the city. In no time at all they were pulling into a parking lot that had been crammed rather haphazardly between the encroaching brick walls of a law office and an optometrists. As they got out of the car, Hermione's father gave her an encouraging smile and squeezed her shoulder lightly as they made their way across the street to the Therapists clinic. It did nothing to help her nerves.

A warm breeze swept across the Grangers as they crossed the threshold into the cozy reception area. The room was decorated tastefully in mahogany reds with leafy potted plants and warm colored lamps and furniture. Thick walls dampened out the busy day noises of the street outside, leaving the lobby comfortable and relaxing. All of these things Hermione would have admired for their textbook quality had her mind not been otherwise preoccupied. She seated herself rather dazedly on one of the waiting chairs, her father seating himself beside her while her mother checked her in with the receptionist. As Eleanor Granger spoke with the aged and upright woman behind the desk, Hermione's father leaned over to speak with her.

"I expect you'll like Dr. Bradshaw," her father said cheerily. "Paul from the office recommended her very highly. Said she helped Racheal out quite a bit with her fear of trains."

Hermione made a noncommittal sort of wheeze. Her anxiety had started to get the better of her.

"Do you and Rachel still hang out at school?" her father asked, in an attempt to make light conversation.

"Sometimes we do." Hermione mumbled. Her father frowned at this, but did not press.

Truth be told, she and Rachel had not been on very good terms lately. Once they had been good friends, and often spent the night at each other's houses. But, she and Rachel had begun to drift apart a little over a year ago. Rachel had spent more and more time with other people – people that happened to be the same ones that teased Hermione mercilessly. Rachel never participated in the baiting, but she was not above laughing when Hermione was tripped in the lunchroom or had something thrown at her.

No, they did not hang out anymore.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione was shaken out of her reverie by the call of her name. She glanced around to see that a tall, formal looking woman had entered the room and was smiling gently down at her. She had a thin, lined face, and slim spectacles hung from around her neck with a gold chain. All in all, she had a rather forbidding look, reminiscent of a librarian. Hermione's mother finished filling out papers at the receptionist and walked over to stand next to her as her father got stiffly from his seat.

"I'm very pleased to meet you Miss Granger." Dr. Bradshaw greeted, extending a hand towards her. "My name is Dr. Bradshaw."

Hermione shook the hand mutely, not sure what to make of this strict looking psychologist.

"…and you must be David and Eleanor," continued the doctor, shaking her parent's hands. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I was happy to receive your call this morning."

"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice," Her father said. "We appreciate you working us in."

"It was no trouble," Dr. Bradshaw said, demurely. "If you're ready to begin, I'll walk you down to my office just down the hall."

The Grangers followed Dr. Bradshaw down the narrow hallway to a gild labeled, polished oak door on the left. Hermione stared at her feet as she walked, playing with the hemming of her shirt. She could not even begin to say how uncomfortable she was with the whole situation.

"Please, have a seat," Dr. Bradshaw gestured to the the seats by the desk.

As the doctor seated herself behind the desk, she opened up the manilla folder. She leafed through the papers inside, glancing up every so often. Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the itchy fabric of the seat. She did not like it when people scrutinized her like that. It always made her feel insecure and generalized.

"So, I see here that you have put bad dreams and restless sleep as the reason for your visit today." The doctor bridged her fingers together in front of her. "Can you tell me when these dreams first began to occur?"

"A little over three years ago," her father replied. "At first we didn't think anything of it. We thought she had just seen a scary film."

"But I take it you determined that not to be the case?"

"When the nightmares continued," her mother interjected. "We did try to limit Hermione's access to violent TV and movies."

"I see..." Dr. Bradshaw addressed her next question to Hermione. "About how often do you have these dreams?"

Hermione fidgeted nervously in her seat, but tried to meet the doctors eyes steadily.

"A few times a week." She answered softly. "Sometimes I can go a long time without one, but they always come back."

The doctor scratched a note on a pad sitting on her desk. "When was the last occurrence of your night terror?"

"Last night." Hermione said, fiddling with her hands.

"Mhmm." The doctor pierced her lips together. "And if you would, could you please tell me what these dreams usually entail?"

Hermione felt herself flush in embarrassment. This was exactly what she had been afraid of. she looked nervously over at her parents, beseeching their help. Her mother smiled encouragingly at her and her father nodded his head. She gulped and tried to meet the doctors eyes.

"Bad things." She said finally.

"What kind of bad things?" the doctor asked. Then she smiled kindly. "Its ok Hermione, I won't judge you on what you say."

"People dying. People being hurt." Hermione said harshly. She was getting worked up. "I don't know why I see these things! I don't want to."

Her mother put a hand on her shoulder as she began to shake. This was going horribly, she just knew it.

"Miss Granger," Dr. Bradshaw said, "I want to assure you that what you are going through is entirely normal. Many young children experience frequent night terrors. it is nothing to be ashamed of, and I don't not want you to feel threatened in my presence."

Hermione felt herself flush, completely mortified by her outbreak. She sank down into her seat, avoiding her parents concerned eyes.

"Perhaps this is a mistake." Her father said uncertainly. "I don't want to do anything that will make my daughter uncomfortable."

"Actually," Dr. Bradshaw said tersely, "to be perfectly frank Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I think it would be a mistake not to go through with therapy. You may choose not to do it through my practice, but in my experience this is not the type of problem that will solve itself."

There was a thoughtful silence following this pronouncement. Why is no one asking me what I think, Hermione wondered. She felt her eyes start to sting with the beginning of tears and wiped them away angrily. She was not going to cry here in front of this strange doctor.

"We just want what's best for Hermione." Her mother said finally, looking at her father, then at her. "We just want whats best for you dear."

Hermione screwed up her face, trying to control her emotions. She could feel the weight of the adults staring at her.

"I just want the dreams to stop." She said at last.

"Of course, Miss Granger. That is what I wish as well." Dr. Bradshaw replied. "In that case let me explain to you the dynamic of my consultations."

The doctor shuffled some papers around and removed her slim spectacles, looking not at her parents, but directly at Hermione. Without the spectacles on she seemed much nicer and much younger.

"First of all, let me start off by explaining that I am not a miracle worker. I develop a relationship with my patients based on mutual trust and understanding which I use to identify areas of stress or trauma in their everyday lives. I do not subscribe to quick fixes or medications. Often times, you may find some of the questions I ask uncomfortable or invasive. It is not my intention to make you feel threatened or nervous. Know that, while it is at your discretion what we will discuss and what you wish to share with me, I can only work with what you give me."

"Do to the intimate and personal nature of these sessions," Bradshaw continued, turning to Hermione's parents "I would advise that Hermione and I engage in them alone. Often with children at Hermione's age, we discover that there are problems they simply do not wish to discuss with their parents."

Her father opened his mouth to say something, but Dr. Bradshaw, sensing argument, forestalled him.

"You are, of course, welcome to discuss anything that we go over with each other at your leisure. I do not mean to imply that there has been any negligence on your part as parents, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I am merely informing you of a common trend in cases similar to this that I have dealt with in the past."

"Ah… Yes, of course." Said her father, slightly cowed. The doctor inclined her head.

"Now, that was my speech," Said Dr. Bradshaw, returning the spectacles to her face. "Do any of you have any questions?"

"What exactly does one of your sessions comprise," Her father asked, curiously.

"A large part of the therapy is simply talking," Bradshaw replied. "We may perform some exercises to assist me with my diagnosis. After I feel confident that I have a grasp of the issue, I will prescribe some home changes and we will go from there. Many patients find they feel better after even one session, just for having the issue aired. It can be a long and abstract process and it is different for each person."

As the doctor continued her spiel, hermione found herself relaxing a little bit. Perhaps this would not be so bad after all. It sounded as though Dr. Bradshaw simply wanted to talk with her. She was quite relieved to hear that the doctor did not prescribe medication. Nothing made her feel worse than the idea of something messing around with the way her head worked.

The sound of her mothers questioning voice snapped her from her reverie.

"I'm sorry?" She asked, glancing up at the adults who were all looking at her.

"I was asking you what you think dear." Her mother repeated. "Is this something you would try for us? You don't have to go through with it if you don't want to."

Hermione thought for a moment, staring at her hands, but glad for the chance to share her opinion. True, it made her uneasy to think of laying herself so bare in front of a stranger. But, unbidden and unwanted, the memory of the awful dream filled her thoughts. She hated the dreams so terribly.

"Alright," she said, "I'll do it"

"Excellent." said Dr. Bradshaw, clapping her hands together. "In that case, I would like to get started right away with our first session. It should not take long."

Hermione was already doubting her decision as her parents got up from their seats. Her mother squeezed her shoulder and whispered gently, "Remember dear, we're just outside in the lobby if you need us."

I no time at all, her parents had left her and she was alone with the doctor.

Dr. Bradshaw stood from her desk chair, smoothing the front of her lapel, and stepped across to the windows, opening up the shades to let in the morning sun.

"Do you mind if we speak over here Miss Granger?" Dr. Bradshaw asked, motioning to a plush maroon recliner near the back of the room. "It's much nicer to talk without a desk in front of us, I find."

Hermione stood from her seat, her legs tingling form where the wood edge of the chair had pressed against her thighs. She walked over to stand next to the recliner, looking down at it. Dr. Bradshaw had seated herself across from it in a comfortable looking leather armchair.

"Do I have to lie down?" Hermione asked the doctor, nervously.

"No. I would like you to do whatever is most comfortable for you," Dr. Bradshaw replied. "You may sit, you may lie down. You can stand if you would like. I'll keep my seat, though, if you don't mind. I find it much easier to write while sitting."

She gave hermione a warm smile, her wrinkles krinkeling together on the edges of her glasses.

Hermione glanced nervously at the legal pad Dr. Bradshaw had set on her lap. The doctor, following her gaze, correctly interpreted the source of her discomfort.

"No need to worry about this, Miss Granger. May I call you Hermione?" The Doctor asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Thank you. First names are much less formal. You can call me Joyce if you'd like."

Joyce adjusted her seat on the couch and extended the notepad for Hermione to see. She peered over to examine the yellow page. Written at the top was her name, the date, and single sentence: 'First names ok.'

"These notes are just going to be a record of the things we discuss while we are together, nothing more." the doctor reassured her. "You are welcome to read them if you wish to. It is becoming harder and harder for me to remember the fine details with age. I find writing them down helps me organize my thoughts."

"Oh, ok." Hermione said.

Relieved to discover that the notepad was just for recording the conversation, Hermione nodded and seated herself carefully on the edge of the puffy recliner and folded her arms over her lap.

"Now, then Hermione," Joyce said kindly. "Before we begin, would you like anything to drink?"

"Yes, please. Hermione answered, still feeling

Joyce got up and walked over to the bookshelf where a small tea set sat on the third shelf.

"What would you like for tea?" She asked, holding up a large rack with several types of tea leaf.

Hermione selected a mint tea and the doctor retrieved some cups from under the shelf. She sprinkled some of the tea leaves into the kettle and set it to steep on a small hotplate. She handed hermione a cup on a small saucer with a little silver mixing spoon. Then she set out a small tea tray with sugar, honey, and the water pot and reseated herself with her own cup.

Soon, with a warm cup of fresh tea in her hands, the sunlight streaming through the window, and the aroma of mint filling the air, Hermione was feeling much more relaxed. She stirred some sugar absently into her tea and watched as Joyce sipped at hers

"Alright then Hermione," Joyce said, putting down her tea and picking up the notepad "Let's get started shall we. To begin with, is there anything you would like to know about me?"

"About you?" Hermione said, surprised. "I thought you were going to be asking me questions."

"On of the goals of therapy is laying the foundation for a trusting doctor-patient relationship. Part of that process is getting to know one another. So, go ahead, ask me anything."

Hermione tried to think of something interesting to ask the doctor.

"Um… Are you married?" She asked.

"Not anymore I'm afraid." Joyce replied, smiling sadly.

"What happened?" Hermione asked. Then she realized how rude this sounded. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Thats quite alright dear." Joyce said. She looked away from Hermione. "Unfortunately my husband passed on some time ago. It was sad, but these things do happen."

"Oh…" Hermione trailed off. She really couldn't think what to say.

"It was a wonderful marriage," Joyce continued, relieving Hermione of the responsibility of responding. "Right out of the story books. We had adventure and romance. Quite lovely really, and over too quickly."

The doctor took another sip of her tea, glancing over at Hermione. "Do you ever want to get married Hermione?"

This caught her off guard.

"Of course!" she said, surprised, "Doesn't everybody?"

The corners of the Doctors mouth twitched upward and she raised her cup to Hermione. "Fewer and fewer people nowadays. Tying the knot seems to be falling from popularity."

"But," Hermione said, aghast, "What will people do if they don't get married. They won't have kids or families..."

She trailed off, trying to wrap her mind around the concept of people not getting married

"Surprisingly, that idea does not seem to bother people very much." Joyce said.

Hermione was still struggling with the idea. Finding her prince charming had been something she had obsessed over ever since she had first read cinderella. The thought of not get married had never even occurred to her.

"I'm glad you had a good marriage," Hermione said at last. "Even if it was a short one."

Joyce smiled at her. "Thank you Hermione. That is a very nice thing to say. I'm glad there are still people that value marriage."

Hermione felt her cheeks glow at this, so she took sip of her tea to distract herself.

"So, Hermione, Tell me about these dreams you've been having. What are they like."

Hermione gulped down the hot tea too quickly and choked as it burned her throat. She turned away, embarrassed as she coughed and hacked on the hot liquid. Joyce seemed to become suddenly interested in the drape of the curtains.

"They're horrible," She croaked at last, trying to regain her composure.

"What makes the horrible for you?" Joyce asked, turning back to her and penning a note on the legal pad.

"They're scary." Hermione said, shuddering. "They violent, like a horror movie but more real."

"And in the dreams, who is this violence directed at? Yourself?"

"Yes, and sometimes other people. Sometimes there's a boy."

"What is the boy like?" Joyce asked her.

"He has black hair and really scary dark eyes." She said.

"And this boy, he hurts you too?"

"Oh, no… He never hurts me."

"I see…" Joyce trailed off. the doctor tapped her pen to her chin thoughtfully, looking at Hermione.

"Hermione, I'd like to ask you a few questions about yourself now. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, just let me know and we'll stop there."

"Ok," Hermione squeaked nervously.

"You said you get these dreams about two or three times a week, correct?"

Hermione nodded.

"Do they seem to come with any sort of pattern or regularity. Do you feel angry before you have them, or sad?"

"No." said Hermione. "No they happen kind of at random."

"How is your home life?" Joyce asked, switching topics suddenly. "Do you feel safe at home? Happy?"

"Yes of course!" Hermione said, annoyed. What was Dr. Bradshaw suggesting?

"Are your parents home often?" Joyce continued.

"They're home every day after 5." Hermione said, trying not to sound offended. "They're home enough."

"Both your mom and your dad work?" Affirmation "What do you do while you're parents are at work."

"Sometimes I go to their work with them." Hermione said. "I read books in the lobby. Sometimes if I'm good, my mom will drop me off at the library."

"Do you spend time at friends houses as well?" Joyce asked jotting all this down on the legal pad.

Hermione stopped and looked away. She did want to answer that question. She did not want to tell Joyce that, no, she did not go over to friends houses because, no, she didn't really have any friends.

Something to this effect must have shown on her face, however, because the Doctors next question was along the same train of thought.

"Are you picked on or bullied at school? Does school make you feel -"

Hermione stood up suddenly, her hands clenched. she did not look at Dr. Bradshaw. "I am feeling uncomfortable." she said to the window.

If she had expected Joyce to be surprised or get angry, she was sorely mistaken. On the contrary, the Doctor seemed almost a little relieved. "That's quite alright Hermione. We can stop here."

Hermione stared at her, somewhat bemused. It was over so quickly that she barely had time to register that she had just opened up to a complete and total stranger. She had never really been able to dictate the flow of conversation before with adults other than her parents. Joyce was something of a foreign territory to her.

The doctor picked up her tea and stood up to clean up the table. Then Joyce carried the tea tray back over to her desk, set it down, and opened one of the left hand drawers. She removed a small leather-bound notebook and brought it back to Hermione.

"For your homework for the next couple of weeks," Joyce said, handing her the notebook, "I would like you to record one of your dreams in as much detail as you can. Leave nothing out. If you are feeling comfortable with the idea, we can discuss it in our next session, but for now, I want you to do this simply for yourself."

Hermione took the book from the doctor somewhat absently. She helped Joyce clear up the last of the tea things. The visit had been nothing like she had expected. Short, pleasant, and non-intrusive. She had certainly not expected to find sunshine and tea, but mostly she had not expected to find the therapist so understanding, and so forgiving.

" I don't understand," Hermione said at last, as Joyce was beginning to pack up. "Why do you care about what I dream about or what I feel?"

Joyce smiled at her, readjusting the spectacles on her nose. "Believe it or not, Hermione, I do care about you. I care because I've been where my patients have been and I remember what it's like to not have someone who can relate to you. That is why I made a career of being a therapist."

"Oh," said Hermione, unsure of what to say. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome." Joyce said, taking her hand. "Come now, your parents are waiting for you."

Joyce took her back to the lobby where she was greeted with smiles by her overly-nonchalant parents. Hermione sat quietly, head buzzing, as the doctor took her parents over to the receptionist to make a return appointment.

All through the car ride home, something continued to nag at the corner of Hermione's mind. She answered her mother and fathers questions only with brief distracted answers. It was not until they had arrived back at the Granger house and were inside the front door that it clicked.

Joyce was the first adult, apart from her parents, who had ever treated Hermione like her own person. Her teachers, the librarian, the hygienist from her parents practice - everybody always treated her like a child, like she had nothing interesting to add or say. Even if Joyce had not been genuine, she had at least listened to the things Hermione had said. She had not laughed at her ideas or scolded her for being a know-it-all.

And as this realization struck her, she felt a hard knot rise in her chest. To the consternation of her parents, she promptly burst into tears, and it was some time before they managed to calm her.

Thanks for reading.

A/N: I am currently looking for beta readers for this story. If you would like to be a Beta for this story, please PM me.