Potter does Prompts

Drinking poison

Day 4 prompt Chapter title:The scar

Source: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Main event in the chapter: Harry wakes up after his "dream" about Voldemort and Wormtail killing the Muggle gardener at Riddle House, Frank Bryce.

My story was inspired by "Goblet of Fire."



Desdemona followed the Maitre d', as he escorted her to the table reserved by Dr. Hamilton. "Can I bring you a drink or appetizer while you're waiting for your guest?"

"Guest? Ha. At least meeting a shrink in a restaurant lessens my annoyance by being imprisoned in her office."

The greeter took a few steps back. "Excuse me?"

Nonchalant and uncaring about almost everything in her life, Desdemona waved him off. "Whiskey," she said, waiting for his practiced countenance to slip to judgement. Another victim. she inwardly smirked. When he expressed no surprise at a woman ordering whiskey at 10 A.M. blood rushed to her face. Not to be deterred, she said, "Why are you still standing there?" Now he'll be ashamed and run off like a child.

The professional appearance and attitude remained. "Very well, Madam, I'll return shortly."

"That's 'Miss" to you, buddy," she said to his retreating back. Lowering her eyes to the menu, she surreptitiously took in the other diners. Her glance wandered to the back of the restaurant. Of all the nerve. Desdemona launched to her feet, ready to smack her forever enemy across the face.

"Desdemona."

Dr. Hamilton's voice cut through Desdemona, and she returned to her seat.

"When I agreed to have our session out of the office, you promised restraint and decorum, despite any triggers." Dr. Hamilton's smile both encouraged and warned.

Focused on the napkin she'd already shredded, Desdemona muttered, "Sorry. But it's not my fault. Sandra Anderson is eating here." She locked narrowed eyes on the psychiatrist. "She knew I was coming."

Dr. Hamilton shook her head. "If that's what you think, I must really suck at being a psychiatrist."

The doctor's comment defused her fury and peaked her curiosity. "I've never heard you speak so crassly."

"Do I have your undivided attention, now?"

Desdemona looked away and shrugged. "Whatever."

Dr. Hamilton summoned the waiter and pointed to her client's glass. "Bring me whatever my guest is drinking."

With her mouth forming a small o, Dr. Hamilton drinking in the morning? Desdemona stiffened her spine and nodded. "I'm paying attention, now."

When the doctor's drink arrived, she sipped from it, eyeing her client over the edge of the glass.

Desdemona mimicked the actions of the prim and proper shrink. Napkin folded in her lap. Good grief, her perfection and poise is annoying.

"You've wasted enough of my time, Des. Let's talk about what you had in mind when I stopped you."

The return reply came out as a hiss. "It's her. That awful woman knew I was coming, and now she's over there smirking at me."

Dr. Hamilton discreetly looked over her client's shoulder. "Let's talk about your feelings for Sandra Anderson."

Furious with the doctor's placating words, Des considered storming out, but couldn't resist the opportunity to let her vehemence fly. "Fine. That woman has bested me all my life. She's despicable."

The doc's whisky went down in one slug.

Nothing lady-like about that. What's her game?

At the next table, Desdemona heard a couple arguing, and it lit her own fury. "It all began when we were five."

"You're the one who slept with another woman," shouted the lady at the near by table. A hushed silence permeated the room.

"See, Doc? I'm not the only one with anger issues."

"Maybe this will cool your ardor."

Des watched the wife douse her husband with water and storm away. She smirked. But then she felt the coldness of the perfection of Miss Perfection/Dr. Hamilton's glare. She met the shrink's gaze, but instead, saw her tapping on her watch.

"You now have thirty minutes left for this session." Dr. Hamilton sighed. "What happened between you and Sandra when you were only five?"

Desdemona's fingers curled around yet another napkin, once again tearing it to shreds. "She got the lead in the kindergarten play, when it should have been me." Waiting for the shrink's reaction and getting none, Des continued. "And when we graduated elementary school, she had a one grade point advantage on me."

Dr. Hamilton singled for another round. She waited for the drinks to arrive and then gulped another shot.

Des sipped her whiskey and zapped her doctor with an accusation. "You're an alcoholic? What gives you the right to judge me?"

Long fingernails tapping the burgundy tablecloth, Dr, Hamilton said, "And after grammar school?"

No point in hiding her fury and frustration at the doctor's calm. "Junior High School. She won the science fair when everyone knew my exploding volcano bested her display on butterflies."

The comment raised one of the doctor's eyebrows. "Do you know why?"

Desdemona looked away. "My volcano didn't explode," she mumbled.

Loud enough for to make heads turn, the doctor said, "I understand how an un-exploding volcano can cost a win." She signaled for another round.

The many heads, with perked ears, listened to her reply.

"You're sure you have the competency to treat clients?"

Undeterred, Dr. Hamilton continued. "And what happened in high school?"

"She won Valedictorian by one point!" Mutters passed through the diners. With every intention of maintaining control, Des pointed to the onlookers. "You wanna hear more?"

A hand on Des's arm, firm and commanding, brought Des back to reality.

The doctor swallowed another shot. "And in college?"

Put off by the shrink's apparent alcoholism, Desdemona let acid drip from every word. "I graduated Cum Laude." She waited for a response. "Sandra graduated Summa cum Laude."

Dr. Hamilton nodded.

"Why aren't you furious with me?" From the corner of her eye, Des saw a few members of the wait staff approaching. She lowered her voice. "It goes on. We both applied for the same job. Do I have to tell you who got the position?"

The doctor shook her head.

Desdemona forged ahead. "Her salary was more than mine." No response from the doctor, who was putting down a fourth shot. "She got married first. She had kids first. And now she's at this restaurant first!"

"Is that what you think, Desdemona?"

"That's what I know, you alcoholic." Des stabbed a finger toward the doctor's chest. "I'm reporting you to the medical board. I'll get your license to practice revoked."

Of all the improper responses, Dr. Hamilton smiled. She handed the empty glass to Desdemona. "Take a sniff."

Not wanting to cooperate in any way whatsoever, Des took a brief whiff. "It's water!" She nearly vaulted from her chair, but the wait staff had moved closer. "Why did you deceive me?"

"You can't figure that out for yourself?"

Des, only familiar with Miss Perfection Dr. Hamilton, choked on the whiskey she downed. After wiping up the spill from the tablecloth, she whispered, "How dare you insult me."

"Creative psychiatrist's dealing with belligerent attitudes find alternate methods to treat their clients." She smiled. "I pretended to get drunk to knock you off your guard. I've learned more about you in the last thirty minutes than in all the fifteen sessions we've had prior." She waggled her fingers. "I'll take your fee now because this is the last day I'll be seeing you. You did remember to bring your checkbook?"

"I . . . what's my diagnosis?" she asked, fumbling in her purse. "You haven't helped me at all."

Dr. Hamilton signaled for the check. "Desdemona, you've spent hundreds of dollars making vague accusations about Sandra. Yesterday, I spoke to her—"

"You what?"

Dr. Hamilton held Des off with an upraised hand. "She gave me permission to tell you something."

"Finally, an apology from that evil woman."

"Nothing of the sort. She feels only pity for you."

Stunned, Desdemona waited a few beats before replying. "Pity, she said?"

"Yes," said Dr. Hamilton. "And here's my final words for you."

"Oh, and what might that be?"

"Hating someone for thirty-odd years is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die." With that, Dr. Hamilton paid the bill and walked out of Desdemona's life.