A/N: I feel like I'm always apologizing for delays, but as I promised, I will never abandon this fic. My creative juices have started flowing again. I hope I can keep them going.

Seamus wasn't happy. His mother was studiously not looking over at him, knowing that he was just waiting for her to make eye contact so he could start an argument. She was just not in the mood for another argument, not this early in the morning, so she continued to busy herself with toast and eggs.

He sighed loudly and rustled the Daily Prophet, but she calmly spooned the eggs onto the three plates she had lined up alongside the stove, keeping her movements measured and slow. Once she was finished preparing breakfast, she carried the plates to the table, giving her husband a forced smile and glancing only briefly at her son before settling into her own seat.

For a few moments, nobody spoke, and both his mother and father had a mouthful of food when Seamus finally burst out with, "I do NOT want to talk to this shrink."

With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Finnigan lowered her fork to her plate and looked over the newspaper Shay was still holding in his clenched fist.

"We discussed this already," she said gently. "You agreed to it. It's not negotiable."

Mr. Finnigan nodded, only increasing his son's agitation.

"We told you, Shay. Give it a try. Talk to him today. And if you really hate him that much, we'll try to find someone else. But you - you need to talk to someone." At Seamus's angry snort, his hand tightened on his fork but he forced his voice to stay calm as he muttered, "whether you want to or not."

Seamus let out an explosive breath but a quick look at both of his parents told him pretty much everything he needed to know about continuing this argument - that it wasn't worth it. He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth savagely even as he thought, Fine. I'll go. But I'm not telling him anything.

An hour later, the Finnigans were knocking on the ivy covered door about a mile from their house. None of them looked at each other, and when it opened, they walked in without a word. The receptionist smiled at them brightly.

"And you are?" she asked. When it quickly became clear that Seamus wasn't about to offer any information, his mother stepped forward and said, "Seamus Finnigan to see Dr. Andrews." She shot him a look that he missed as he was staring mutinously at his feet. He. wasn't. saying. a. word.

"Just a moment," the young woman said brightly. She typed something and then stood up and motioned to Seamus saying, "if you'll just follow me."

He didn't look at his parents. He barely looked at the woman he followed from the room. And moments later, when they were alone in the waiting room, Mrs. Finnigan looked at her husband as she slumped miserably into her chair.

"What if this really doesn't help?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"Something's got to," he said grimly. "And if it isn't Dr. Andrews, then we'll find someone who will."

She nodded. She wished she could be as convinced. She wished her husband were as convinced as he wanted to sound. All she knew for sure was that she was more worried about her son than she ever had been in her life, and at this point, that was saying a lot.

Dr. Andrews knew with one glance that this was not going to be easy. Once the receptionist led Seamus into the room and left, closing the door quietly behind her, Shay ha merely stood there, staring at the floor, not moving another inch.

After a moment of silence, the doctor clearly his throat and said quietly, "There's a seat over there if you'd find that comfortable. Whenever you're ready." And he turned and pretended to flip through a pile of papers. It didn't take long for Seamus to glance at him, glance at the chair, and decide that this was a safe suggestion.

Once he was seated, Dr. Andrews turned around again. His lips twitched, but he didn't fully smile, and he said, "Seamus, I'm Dr. Andrews. I'm sure this is new for you because I think your mum said you'd never been to a psychiatrist before. Let me tell you right now that anything you say to me here is completely confidential. I will not tell your parents, your teachers or your friends. The only time I will have to tell someone what you say is if you tell me that you're planning on hurting yourself or somebody else. Otherwise? It's fair game. You can shout, curse, anything. It doesn't leave this room. Understand?"

Almost against his will, Seamus nodded. And then he was angry at himself. He hadn't ever planned on acknowledging this guy's existence, but suddenly, he realized something - he was all right. And if he meant what he said - that anything Seamus said in here was confidential - well, maybe there was something to this. His lips parted and he mumbled, "That's ok with me."

Dr. Andrews smiled. "I'm glad to hear that." He studied Seamus then, noted the bags under his eyes, and his smile faded. "So... how have you been sleeping?"

Seamus felt himself starting to relax slightly, and he shook his head. "Not so well. It's just - last year at school was rough, and... " Here he trailed off. He suddenly realized that he knew nothing about this guy. He'd refused to talk about any of this with his parents, so he didn't even know what type of shrink they'd chosen. But Dr. Andrews merely nodded and said, "Hogwarts. Yes. That was ... quite a year there, to put it mildly. Go on."

For a moment, Seamus felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. Hearing this stranger mention Hogwarts - with even some understanding of what the last year had been - was enough to make him dizzy. He shook his head to clear it and said faintly, "Yes... it was quite a year. And I haven't slept well since, to be honest."

Dr. Andrews nodded again. "I understand," he said softly. For the first time since Seamus had entered the room, he looked directly at him, and Shay found himself staring back before he finally had to break the eye contact and stare at his feet. His eyes were burning, and he wasn't sure why, but he knew he was done talking. This was already too much.

The doctor seemed to know it, too. After letting Seamus sit silently for a minute, he cleared his throat and said, "I think this was enough for a first visit. If you want to come back again next week, I'll let you set up the appointment with Ms. Simmons. Is that all right with you?"

Shay nodded. He wasn't sure why, but he knew he'd be back in another week. He also knew that he wasn't about to tell anyone else why. He wouldn't explain it to his parents, and he wouldn't write about it to Dean. He would just go. There wasn't anything wrong with it. Dr. Andrews was just another person to talk to. Nothing wrong with that at all.

Dean wondered when he would stop anxiously awaiting owls. It wasn't like they were delivering letters with any sort of interesting news. Seamus was back to writing about weather, and no one else was writing to him at all.

And then the owl swooped into the Great Hall and deposited the letter on his lap before soaring away. Dean stared at it for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket. Ginny and Hermione were too busy talking to each other to notice and after a long look at both of them to make sure they wouldn't follow, Dean managed to slip from the table and hurry out of the hall.

He made it back to the Gryffindor common room in record time and ripped open the letter quickly, hoping to read it before anyone else returned from breakfast, but he felt his heart sink when he saw that it only contained a few lines.

Dean, Your sisters have been asking about you and want to know if you'll be home for Christmas. I don't know what to tell them. Let me know as soon as you've made a decision. - Mum

She hadn't signed it love. She didn't say she wanted to know. It was brief, to the point - and it hurt. And Dean was still sitting, staring at it, when Hermione climbed through the portrait hole.

She stopped short when she saw him and wished, suddenly and devoutly, for Ginny. But Ginny had Transfigurations, and Hermione was here because she had reading to do. And here was Dean, clearly upset, and she didn't know what to say. But that was ridiculous, she scolded herself. This was Dean. She took a deep breath and forced herself to the couch, sitting down gingerly beside him.

He looked up with a start and tried to force a smile.

"Oh, hey Hermione. Didn't see you come back in. Ginny in class?"

Hermione nodded, and her eyes flicked to the letter.

"You got something today?" she asked, trying to keep the tone light. It couldn't have been more obvious that they both knew what she wasn't saying: what's wrong. Because as much as he wished he could hide it, Dean knew that not only was he very bad at it, but Hermione was brilliant. She couldn't possibly miss the tension he knew he was radiating.

He shrugged and nodded. "Yeah. From my mum. She - she said my sisters want to know if I'm coming home for Christmas. And Shay actually asked me that in his last letter. I just - I don't know what to tell them. I'm not sure what I should do."

There was so much he wasn't going to say, and Hermione knew that instantly. But she spoke to the anguish in his voice that he'd been trying unsuccessfully to mask.

"Well, if your sisters want to see you - why wouldn't you go home? You must miss them, right?"

You must miss them... Her innocent words couldn't have pierced him more sharply, and Dean nodded again, blinking furiously as he stared at the paper. That was the thing. He did miss them - he missed them dreadfully. He just didn't know how to face them, but - well, if he were already planning on lecturing Shay when he saw him on the importance of not running away from his problems, then maybe he ought to do the same.

He realized, suddenly, that Hermione was still sitting there. "I do," he said gruffly. "I - you're right. There's no reason not to go home."

No reason at all, he thought bitterly - except for the conversation he didn't want to have. But here went nothing.