Vonne: I originally planning on deleting my account- and I did. But, as it seems I couldn't take the long hiatus from writing, I came crawling back. So, this is the first of hopefully a line of many well-liked fictions. Please review and send me as much feedback as you'd like. I love hearing from you, as always. Oh, and since you never get enough of a summary from the front of the site, I included a slightly elongated one here.

Summary: After the war at Hogwarts, the survivors are sent off to therapy until they are concluded fit to survive and thrive in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. But as Harry, Ron, Hermione, Malfoy, and countless others take part in both individual and group therapy, they begin to notice that maybe the horror hasn't quite ended.

Chapter One

Severance

The curtains were drawn that evening as the sun fell down for its rest. Calmly breathing, the plump man seated behind his Victorian-style desk made quite sure that the door to the room was shut before turning to overlook the papers in front of him. However, despite his greatly needed privacy, he was not alone. Watched by the eyes of those in the moving photographs at his desk, the man admittedly felt slightly uneasy. On his rather messy desk, the man shifted his nametag that read: Boyce Ashby. With a whisk of his left hand, the candle on his right abruptly lit itself up and cast an orange light down on the paperwork.

The first picture stood out to him greatly and, lifting it, he gazed upon the weary smile that rest upon the subject's face. Harry James Potter was covered in dirt and dried blood, though despite the mess it was his lightening bolt scar that stood out to the man the most. In the photograph he swayed, slightly drunk with adrenaline, as a wave of photographers snapped away in his direction. He looked distant, despite his smile and, as the photograph's motion drew to a close, he pulled away from the frame towards a restless looking group of redheads. The file underneath the photograph read: "Born July 31st of 1980, Mr. Potter's ordeal over the past eighteen years of his life have been kept fairly secretive up until the past couple years when it was revealed to the public of the Wizarding World that the Dark Lord Voldemort had, indeed, returned." The squat man, with his glasses at the end of his fat nose, leaned in closer towards the flickering candle light. "Since the defeat of the Dark Lord, Mr. Potter's personal life has been kept quite quiet, as well, much to his own request. However, while many report that his secret life has been successful and peaceful, it has not stopped the recent recommendations of therapy."

It would have been foolish of his to say that he hadn't heard of the famous Harry Potter and his glorious victory against Voldemort, who's name had only just become safe to utter. And, of course, he had heard. Mr. Potter, naturally, had been quite an interest of his however, not any more so than the others that were filed out in front of him.

Brunette and smiling, the pretty picture of a slender and smiling Hermione Jean Grander was a friendly one, despite the circumstances surrounding it. Also as messy as Harry Potter's photograph, Hermione's face bore several cuts, scrapes, and bruises. She smirked happily in the picture, though something behind her eyes signified she was gone. Silently, she mouthed something to someone out of frame as her smile slowly faded and, from Mr. Ashby's standpoint, it looked like she'd said, "We've finally ended this fight." Her file said, "Since the battle at Hogwarts several months ago, Ms. Hermione Granger has spent half of her time in the Muggle World visiting her parents, Eric and Lydia Granger, both dentists (those who fix and examine teeth) in the Muggle World. However, her time spent in the Wizarding World is lived around the home of the Weasley's. Seemingly, while she is very rarely seen in public, she is noted to be distant, forlorn, and disconnected with reality."

There was a knock at his door as he shuffled through the files, eyeing two particularly freckle-faced redheads. Dismissing his work, he looked up only with his piercingly blue eyes and called, "Yes?"

"Ashby!" Came a quiet yell, or one as quiet as a yell can be, "Ashby, are you in there?"

"Yes," Mr. Ashby replied, who suspiciously slid his glasses higher upon his nose.

"Ashby," whispered the voice on the other side of the door, "it's Mort. May I come in?"

"Mr. Irwin," Ashby said with a sigh of relief. He calmly collected his papers back together, the gangly redheads resting on top, "I'm working." However, the door slipped open anyway and a tall, slender man stood in the doorframe. He was frowning as he pulled on his olive green tie and, anxiously, he stepped forward with curiously wandering eyes. "Oh," he said with a hiccup of a voice, "are you reviewing the copy of the files I left for you several nights ago?" Ashby nodded because it was, in fact, true. However, unknown to Mr. Irwin, Ashby had been reviewing the original files for many months on end, long before this moment in his office. "Ah," Irwin said, his frown still very much present, "the Weasley brothers. Such a tragedy about what happened to that one of the twins. Percy, was it?"

"Fred," Ashby growled. "Fred Weasley was killed in the battle at Hogwarts grounds." He resumed his place overlooking the photographs. "Percy Weasley has refused to take any therapy sessions with me. In fact, most of the Weasley's have been quite private, except these two and their sister, Ginny. I much appreciate their willingness to move through their…"

"Trauma," Irwin suggested.

"Indeed. That." He once again gave the standing man a hard look. "Now, if you don't mind—"

"Oh!" Irwin took several steps backwards, his fiddling fingers moving in fast paced motions, "my apologizes. I do have a reason for my visit, nonetheless."

Ashby's bitter patience was running slightly thin, "and what is it, then?"

"Well, the patients are here," Irwin flinched, backing slightly towards the door. "They're out in the waiting room," he added, "the whole lot."

Suddenly Ashby's annoyance faltered. "Alright," he muttered, "give me a minute." Eyeing Irwin until he fully reached the door and whipped it open, Ashby waved him away, "let them know I'll be ready in a short notice."

"Er— will do. Mr. Ashby, should I----"

"Yes. Now, please, Mort." And, instantly, Ashby was once again left alone in his dark office. He dropped his head back down to the two brothers, arm slung around one another, eyes red and puffy. He anxiously pulled the photograph of Ginny Weasley out from underneath the rest. "The Weasley siblings, after having suffered such tragic loss, have tried to pull much of their own back together after the battle that killed Voldemort. Since the death of Fred Weasley, a previous graduate from Hogwarts School, the three siblings' agreement to participate in therapy was brought on by their mother, Molly, who suffered greatly from the loss herself. It has been noted that George, twin to the deceased Weasley boy, hasn't spoken much since his brother's passing. However, this vow of silence does not rest with George; Ginny and Ronald Weasley have been described as equally distraught."

A slight chill went up Mr. Ashby's spine. Heaving one last sigh, Ashby slid himself up from the table and pushed the puzzling photographs in a messy pie on his desk. As he stepped away, however, one photograph, attached to a long file, fell to the ground before Ashby's own feet.

Draco Malfoy, son of the infamous Malfoys, did not look entirely present in his photograph and Ashby had to bend down to a full squat to examine it completely. Lucius' son, nephew to Belatrix Black, concentrated his eyes on his shoes. His blond hair was matted with dried blood and his face was dripping with what probably wasn't sweat. Perched on his shoulder was the boney hand of his father and Draco winced at every camera flash. The file on the Malfoy boy said, "It is apparent that Draco Malfoy has suffered from severe depression since the battle at Hogwarts took place. He has been spotted, though rarely, at his new and private home away from the city. Currently, he resides with his parents and has been said to rarely venture from his bedroom."

Ashby lifted the photo as a the cameras flashed in Malfoy's pale face.

Flash! The boy's piercing eyes flinched behind his curtain of messy blond hair that, with his head hung as low as it was, covered his eyes.

Flash! Malfoy exchanged glances with his father's white hand.

Flash! The picture stopped as the young Malfoy's face shone with water and he once again dropped his head to examine his shoes.

"Mr. Ashby!" Came Irwin's quivering voice. "Mr. Ashby, you have some very nice people waiting to meet you." Ashby glanced up. Nice. What a simple way to describe a group of distant trauma survivors. With another wave of his hand, he set the candle out on his desk and headed through the great frame that was his door.

And while there was no flash, Ashby felt himself leading his way to his own beginning.

Vonne- Reviews are always appreciated. I promise, this fiction IS NOT about Ashby or Irwin. This just served as an introduction for you all. I hope you did enjoy what was given so far.