AN: First of all, I was inspired by my friend's fic called Weasley Family Therapy. His pen name is needles. READ IT. It's a great story—really zany and crazy. I wanted to do a different sort of therapy session, with a different family and a different therapist. Most of this is utterly foolish, one of my oh-look-I'm-almost-canon fics. The plot bunnies are breeding. Bear with me. Please?




One: If I Go, Harry Goes!


"But we don't have any problems!" whined Dudley Dursley piteously, between mouthfuls of cookies he was eating sloppily out of a box. "We're normal. We don't need counseling." He paused. "Only Harry should have to go!"

His mother, Petunia, cringed at the amount of snacks he was piling into his mouth (he was still supposed to be on a close diet) but sighed in sympathy. "We are normal, sweetums. But your father and I decided, with the help of your school nurse, your boxing coach, your headmaster, the neighbors…" Petunia looked worried but continued: …"that this would be for the very, very best." She simpered slightly, and headed toward the sink to wash dishes.

"Well…" Dudley trailed off and licked his fingers to make certain he didn't miss any crumbs. "Well… I still shouldn't have to go."

In the corner of the kitchen, Dudley's black-haired cousin Harry Potter stood watching the scene amusedly. "Oh come on, Dudley, electroshock therapy is fun," he said dryly.

Dudley's blue eyes widened considerably, and he wheeled his bulk around to face Harry with a glare. "Electro-what?"

"It's great, Duds," Harry said casually. He lowered his voice to a whisper: "They hook wires into your brain and zap it! Of course, it isn't a nice feeling for people that actually have brains, but I think you'll find it enjoyable."

Dudley stared at his cousin, attempting to understand what the boy had just said. "Wait!" he muttered, and then: "Mum!" Harry grinned.

Petunia waved a dirty frying pan at Harry. "You hush now, Potter! You have more issues than I can count on all of my fingers and toes—"

"He called me stupid—" Dudley complained.

"I know, Duddlykins, but you aren't, you're perfect! He's a mean, mean boy—"

"Not mean enough for therapy!" Harry stated triumphantly.

"I don't need to go!" Dudley insisted, setting the cookies down in favor of a piece of leftover pastry on the counter.

"I know, sweetie," Petunia smiled, eying her son a bit wearily. "Don't you think you should eat a few… carrot sticks?" she offered weakly; it was what the nurse had told her to say.

Dudley appeared to be deaf for a moment, and stuck the whole doughnut in his mouth.

"Eat away your problems, that's right!" Harry encouraged. "Oh, your counselor is going to love you!"

"I DON'T NEED A COUNSELOR!" Dudley growled tersely in a very loud tone of voice. "But Harry does," he added quite calmly, looking at his mother, wondering why she wasn't doing anything.

Petunia nodded in approval. "Yes, honey, but he needs to deal with his problems on his own. We needn't interfere with his thoughts." She cast Harry a critical glower. Harry attempted to look threatening by raising up both eyebrows and baring his teeth.

"Harry has to go," Dudley said bluntly, giving a relaxed nod toward Harry's strange facial expression, as though this were a sure indication of a need for therapy.

Harry sighed and slid down the wall.

"Duddy, I don't think—"

"MAKE HARRY GO!!" Dudley asserted loudly, and stomped his foot, which made a ridiculously great bang on the kitchen linoleum.

Harry kept sliding, having nearly reached the floor.


The blond boy glared forcefully at his mother. "If I go, Harry goes."

"You're kidding!" Harry exclaimed, jumping up again. "You wouldn't make me come, would you, Aunt Petunia?" He made a face. "I mean, er, you wouldn't let me come… that is."

But Petunia was not a mother to deny her son of his wants. "I think… that would be fine," she said, but Harry knew she was going to regret having agreed to this, being that having him attend as well would cost them more money. And in the Dursleys' opinion, Harry was not worth more than a few pieces of lint and a moldy block of brie. However, mental health facilities do not accept decaying cheese and mothballs as forms of payment.

She tapped out of the kitchen, and Dudley grinned devilishly at Harry:

"Not going to be so smart without your brain, are you?" he challenged.