All The Little Pieces

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Summary
*Wounds are hard to heal and tragedies impossible to forget. But if you have the right kind of help, maybe it's not that big of a deal to just look forward.*

The first few years after the war were hard. People struggled so desperately to pick up the pieces, that they often failed to realise they were putting them in all the wrong places. Draco Malfoy was one of those people.

He had managed to find a job at St. Mungo's almost immediately, refusing to rely on his family's wages and decided to strip himself of everything the Malfoy name represented. He had been given a second chance and he was going to make the most of it. Also, work, his work especially, meant thinking. And a lot of it. And none of it about the war. Which was good, in the most unhealthy way possible.

At first, his job consisted mostly of brewing simple enough potions and, no matter how people frowned at his forearm as though it was the most offending thing in the world, no one could deny there was no one better at his job than him.

Of course the interminable hours he spent on his work did not quite do the job in distracting him from all the dark thoughts lingering in the back of his mind, so he read. He read every book he could get his hands on, just to keep his dark thoughts at bay. That's how he stumbled over muggle medicine books. He had heard somewhere they were difficult. And that was just what he needed. Stuff to think about that wasn't war.

And then this thing called psychology caught his attention. It was basically mind healing, but not quite. He found it fascinating. And he became so absorbed in what muggles made of the human mind that he reached a point where he thought therapy sessions were a brilliant idea.

The first piece in the right place.

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Draco tapped his finger on his knee, counting the seconds as he looked around the small circle of chairs. He wore a calm expression and stood straight in his chair in the most professional manner there was, just like he had learned in his mind healing courses. Pulling out a very old, very fancy pocket watch, he checked the time.

Not long now.

Sure enough, after merely a few minutes, the door opened and in walked a small group of people. 11, to be precise.

There was a collective gasp when they recognised the former death eater that they were about to open their souls to. Draco, of course, knew better than to put his own name down on the guiding mind healer spot in the announcement for the sessions. It wasn't a secret that nobody would have wanted to have anything to do with Draco sodding Malfoy after the war. So, obviously, not one person that walked in knew who they were actually going to find waiting for them.

A few seconds passed in absolute silence in which Draco waited patiently. When people started coming to their senses, there were different emotions written on their faces. Four of them simply turned around and left, without a word. Draco did not react. He wasn't surprised. If anything, he was rather expecting all of them to leave.

"Please, take a seat", he gestured for the others when no one moved for a good while.

There was another guy that shook his head and left as the rest of the group slowly and silently sat down.

"I have no doubt that you all know who I am", Draco started, voice even and eyes soft.

Before he could continue, however, the door opened once again and in walked none other than Harry Potter, panting and flustered, mumbling a soft apology for being late.

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