chapter 4
The clock's second hand stabbed through the silence.
Audrey Yaxley set down her quill with surgical precision. "We're done."
Percy's protest died mid-syllable.
"You're not here to heal," she continued, snapping her notebook shut. "You're here to win. Therapy isn't a debate tournament."
Percy's fingers curled into his thighs. "That's—"
"—demonstrably true?" Audrey stood, robes whispering against the floorboards. "Your last three sessions consisted entirely of rebuttals. Impressive ones, mind you—but not the point."
The dismissal stung more than it should have. Percy stood abruptly, sending his chair screeching. "You can't just—"
"Terminate?" Audrey held the door open. The hallway light carved harsh angles across her face. "Standard practice when a patient would rather argue than engage."
Percy stormed past her, the scent of bergamot and parchment chasing him down the corridor.
Scene: The Ministry Archives – 3:17 AM
Percy didn’t mean to be here.
But the Floo Regulation drafts wouldn’t rewrite themselves, and his flat had started to feel like a tomb, and—
Merlin. He was lying to himself.
He’d known she’d be here. Audrey Yaxley always worked late on Thursdays, ever since their disastrous last session. He’d memorized her schedule the way he memorized Ministry bylaws: obsessively, uselessly.
The archives were deserted, the floating candles burning low. Percy turned a corner—
—and froze.
Audrey sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a fortress of books, her hair a messy halo in the dim light. A half-empty bottle of Ogden’s finest hovered at her elbow.
She didn’t look up. “If you’re here to file a complaint, the forms are in Section C.”
Percy’s spine stiffened. “I don’t—”
“—need help? Yes, we’ve established that.” She took a deliberate sip straight from the bottle. “Go away, Weasley.”
He should’ve left.
Instead, he stepped closer. “You’re drunk.”
“Astute.” Audrey’s laugh was razor-edged. “Turns out healing war heroes gets old after a while. Especially when they’d rather swallow broken glass than admit they’re human.”
Percy’s jaw clenched. “Is that what I am to you? A case study?”
“No.” She finally looked up, her eyes glittering in the candlelight. “You’re the infuriating exception.”
A beat. The air between them hummed with something perilously close to honesty.
Then—
Audrey exhaled, rubbing her temples. “You want to know why I became a Mind Healer?” She gestured to her surname, scrawled across a nearby textbook. “This name opens exactly two doors: Dark Arts recruitment or desperate redemption arcs. I picked the one that didn’t involve torture.”
Percy’s breath caught.
“There.” She spread her hands. “Now you know my tragic backstory. Happy?”
He wasn’t.
Because suddenly, he saw her—really saw her. The carefully curated sharpness, the way she wielded humor like a shield. The exhaustion beneath it all.
It was mirror-crack familiarity.
“You’re running too,” he said softly.
Audrey’s fingers stilled on the bottle. “We’re not talking about me.”
“Aren’t we?” Percy knelt, ignoring the way his knees protested. “You terminated our sessions because I was arguing. But you—you argue for a living.”
She opened her mouth—
“You could’ve transferred me,” he continued, relentless. “But you didn’t. Why?”
The candlelight caught the gold in her eyes. “Because you’re the only person who fights me,” she admitted, voice raw. “Everyone else either pities the Yaxley or fears her. You just—”
“—see you,” Percy finished.
Silence.
Then Audrey did the most terrifying thing possible: she flinched.
Percy reached for the bottle. Their fingers brushed—warm, whiskey-slick. “Checkmate,” he murmured.
Audrey’s laugh was quieter this time. “Bastard.”
Outside, the first birds of dawn began to sing.
As Percy took his first burning sip, Audrey watched him over the rim of the bottle—two strategists finally, terribly, off the clock.