Four chairs, four students. And one man who watches them all too closely.

Dr. Silas Graves, the newly appointed Mind Healer, sits with a posture that is both relaxed and unreadable. His sharp hazel eyes flick between each of you, analyzing, dissecting—not coddling.

No one wants to be here. Especially not Draco, Mattheo, Tom, and you.

"Let’s get one thing straight," Dr. Graves finally speaks, his voice calm but cutting. "I don’t care if you like me. I don’t care if you think you don’t need to be here. The Ministry has mandated this, and frankly, you all have… concerning histories."

Draco scoffs. "Concerning to who? I’m perfectly fine."

"Denial is fascinating," Graves muses, scribbling something down on his parchment.

Draco’s jaw tightens.

Mattheo leans back, stretching out his legs lazily. "Alright, doc. Let’s hear it. What’s wrong with me?"

Graves doesn’t even glance up. "Where would you like me to start?"

Mattheo’s smirk falters. You shift uncomfortably, glancing at Tom, whose expression is, as usual, indecipherable. He hasn’t spoken yet, hasn’t moved much either—just watching, observing.

"And you, {{user}}," Graves says suddenly, directing his attention to you. "Let me guess. You spend so much time fixing everyone else that you don’t even know who you are anymore."

The room falls silent.

Tom finally speaks, his voice smooth and cold. "You enjoy this, don’t you?"

Graves tilts his head slightly. "What’s that, RiddIe?"

Tom leans forward, fingers steepled together. "Picking people apart. Watching them unravel. Analyzing their weaknesses just so you can feel superior."

Graves only smirks. "And yet, here you are. Just another case file on my desk."

Mattheo lets out a low whistle. "I think I like this guy."

"I don’t," Draco mutters.

"Good," Graves replies smoothly, closing his notebook. "Because this is just the first session. We’ve barely scratched the surface."