Once there was a cruel and cold God, loving no one but himself. Mortals and Gods alike despised the very idea of him, and so did she. Because he had turned an innocent young woman into the ruthless Queen of the Underworld.

For some reason their story had always intrigued her. What caused someone to turn from sweet to merciless? How was it possible to be forbidding and loving at the same time? And why did everyone always fall in love with their abductor?

The first question was easy to answer. She called it her 'fall from grace', for which she always got scolded by her mother. Experiences shape the character, she would say, and there was no shame in seeing only a few stars at night. Night comes before the dawn.

She would be thankful for a few stars, even if they were literal ones. But a look out of her window told her that, again, no stars were seen in the night sky. A sky without stars was to her like a shelf without books, walls without photos or zoos without animals – pointless.

She refused to talk, she refused to eat, and she barely slept. They knew but what could they do about it? Put her into therapy? Well, couldn't put her there twice, could they?

She refused to talk because there was no one she trusted, no one who actually cared and no one whom she deemed worthy enough. She didn't go around spilling secrets, revealing her innermost thoughts or opening her heart to professionals. They didn't care about the person so why should she trust them? Why should she trust a woman who was so fake-friendly that it made her want to puke? Why should she trust a man who was cold as ice and quite the opposite of the other therapist? No, nothing worked for her and she refused to make it work.

How could anyone expect her to trust the man who was responsible for her compulsory institutionalisation? She was still deemed to be suicidal. And she wouldn't deny it.

It had been such a good plan. Lock the door, take the pills, take the pain. No one would have needed to know, no one would have found her in time if it wasn't for that drunken neighbour of hers.

Hospital, emergency room, pumping her stomach, informing her parents. Talks in which she didn't say much. Didn't cry, didn't yell, didn't try to pass it off as an accident. Though it would have been so easy. There was no letter, no notice, nothing that would've explained her action. But taking 73 sleeping pills and washing them down with the most expensive whiskey she could afford did not really make it look like an accident.

Of course her parents were shocked, her whole family was. She refused to explain herself, refused to even see them. She knew they called her selfish and self-centred, ignorant and irresponsible.

After four weeks in therapy, they decided to give up on the female therapist. It was of no use. While the therapist was friendly, bubbly and understanding, her patient answered with hostility and silence.

The male therapist she didn't meet with hostility, only silence.

He met her the same way. Maybe that was why she was less reluctant.

Every now and then he would say a few words and she suspected that today would be such a day.

No stars in sight and the sun rose early. Yes, the day wouldn't bring much joy to her, she was sure of it.

When at 7am there was a knock on her door to wake her, she was already dressed and ready to leave for breakfast. It wouldn't start until 7:30am, so she was allowed to roam the grounds for a bit.

Before she went out, she risked a glance into the mirror in her room. A habit she simply couldn't get rid of even though she knew it never brought her joy.

Those unruly auburn curls of hers, how she hated them. They were all over the place and on some days – like today – not even being tied into a bun could tame them. Why couldn't she have nice and shiny dark red hair like her cousin? Or the gorgeous brown of her brother? Why this weird in-between-colour? To her, it looked silly combined with her hazel eyes and skin.

With a sigh, she turned away from the mirror after a last attempt at taming her mane.

Seeing as the grounds were magically enchanted, she had no means of escaping and was left alone until someone would collect her for breakfast again.

The early spring air was chilly against her freckled skin and she quickly closed her woollen cardigan.

Droplets of dew were scattered on the grass and suddenly there was this tugging in her stomach. The urge to take off her shoes. Hesitantly, she slipped out of the slippers the institution had provided for her and every other patient. Her socks lying abandoned in the wet grass, she let the feeling engulf her.

Back in the day, walking barefoot was something she had done on a nearly daily basis. Grass, sand, and mud used to be her favourite surface to walk upon.

But times had changed and instead of feeling free, careless, fresh, all she felt was the cold and the wetness on her soles.

Her adventure into the world of spring, joy and the past didn't even last two minutes. When someone came to collect her for breakfast, she was found staring at the grass with her head hung low.

She barely looked up during breakfast, barely touched her food, and took only a few sips from her tea. Even for her this behaviour was unusual. Especially for her. She had never struggled with an eating disorder, which, as her therapists had told her, was uncommon for someone with her diagnosis.

Everytime someone had told her that, she had smiled to herself alone in her room at night because maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as broken as everyone thought her to be. Not as broken as she felt.

But today marked the beginning of a new emotion stirring up inside of her. Never before had she felt this hopeless. Never before had she felt less like herself.

After breakfast, the patients were allowed half an hour for themselves before group therapy and individual therapy sessions started. Back in her room, she sat down in her usual spot on the window sill. Somehow this was where she liked to be, where she felt more at ease than anywhere else.

There was a pillow she could sit on and a blanket to wrap around her body tightly. She had learned how important it was to always wrap blankets tightly; it gave the impression of a hug and relieved the urge to scratch her legs or arms until they bled.

Group therapy went as usual: she kept quiet, let everyone else talk, and gave short answers to questions directed at her.

But, differently from what she had suspected, her therapist didn't start talking during their session. That was, at first he didn't.

Simply came in and sat down opposite of her, like always, while she stared out of the large window. Her eyes kept following rain drops, wondering which one of the tiny bits of water was going to win the useless race. She neither moved nor stirred until she felt his hand on her arm.

"What?" She snapped at him, focusing on him rather than the rain.

"Hold one of these, please."

"What for?"

"It will make you feel better."

"Bullshit."

Nonetheless, she took the bowl of ice cubes and stared at it, unsure whether to follow his instruction or not.

Hesitantly, she took one of the cubes into her palm and watched it slowly melt.

"It's cold," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Mhm," came his hummed answer.

"Why am I doing this?"

"Because you feel like shit today, Rose."

At the mention of her name, she looked up at him only to see him smile lightly.

"Bullshit. Don't feel worse or better than yesterday."

"We both know that's not true."

"How would you know?"

"You really think I wouldn't notice?"

"You're my therapist. It's your job to notice. So you did. Well done, congrats, paycheck saved."

"I should've noticed earlier. Oh so much earlier. Do you know why I'm here, why it's me who's treating you?"

"Because I threw a tea cup at the other therapist."

"That and because I asked to be your therapist. Because I think I'm the best one to help you."

"Fucking self-righteous prick."

"No. I truly believe that, because I know you, I can help you."

"I call bullshit again."

"Look, Rose... The second I got called into your room to examine whether you're suicidal or not, the second I saw you in that bed, pale and your curls plastered to your forehead... I think I died a little inside. You looked so broken and the whole time I kept wondering about the signs, if they were already there while we were in school. And... just answer me one question, okay? Then we can go back to silence again."

"Alright. Deal. Silence for the rest of my duration here."

"That's a wee bit long but okay. Deal. If you answer honestly."

"I swear. Cross my heart and hope to die." Rose winked at him, a barely visible smile on her lips.

"Let's not go that far..."

"Scorpius, go ask your question."

"It's Dr. Malfoy for you, but I'll let it slip."

"Oh c'mon! I've known you since you were eleven!"

"And this is a professional environment."

"Ask your question, Dr. Malfoy."

"When was the first time that you noticed something was wrong?"

For a few minutes, Rose stayed silent. She started playing with the hem of her shirt and Scorpius noticed the way she chewed on her bottom lip. It reminded him of all the times in school and the mornings before a big Quidditch match. Rose had always used her bottom lip as a means to relief some stress. Only when he saw small drops of blood did he intervene.

Scorpius placed his hand on top of Rose's and smiled lightly. "It's okay. If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay. Just answer the question for yourself."

"I..." Rose sighed and withdrew her hands from underneath his, "in fifth grade the showers in the Quidditch changing rooms were broken." Rose dropped her gaze and said nothing for a while. She glanced around the room, fixing her gaze on the window and, again, on the small water droplets gathering on the glass.

"I used to have a little Muggle thingy – no idea how it was called. It looked like a tube and it had little drops of gel in it and a spiral. The drops would fall down on the spiral and then make their way to the bottom of the tube. You could turn it around and it would do the same thing again. I called it my army of ants. It calmed me down so much. I broke it when I was 14. I can't remember why. But it broke. Like the showers. I picked up the glass pieces and cut myself accidentally. I didn't mind but I didn't realize. Then came the showers. Scalding hot. It burnt and it felt so good. Just so good. After Quidditch practice, after matches... Even when we won I stayed under the showers for ages. I even fixed the ones in the girls' dorm so that they were just as hot as the broken ones. That was the first time."

She got up from her seat and paced up and down the room.

"It started with the showers. It was never... I waxed my legs because that was the kind of pain that made me feel good. Bikini area, too. I started flying sharper and narrower curves, started always being close to the opposing team's Beaters... lots of small things. Jumping down stairs, scratching my legs until they would bleed. I kept a tight hair tie around my wrist, pulled my hair up in really tight buns, so tight that it would hurt my scalp. I bit my nails so that they became too short and I'd get infections. I wore too tight shoes, too tight rings on my fingers. Always wore my belt on the last hole because it then pressed uncomfortably into my body. I started cutting in our last year. First time was an accident. I wanted to cut an apple and accidentally cut my palm. And it felt so good for a while. But I knew I couldn't start doing that. At least not where everyone would see it. Though I hardly doubt anyone would've cared. I cut my thighs because no one saw them anyway. I don't do it anymore. Mainly because in this institution I have no way of doing it. It's hell."

"Yeah, it is." Scorpius shrugged his shoulders, "It's hell and it's pain and it's like seeing dead beings walking around all day, every day. There is so little joy in this house."

"Then why stay?" Rose plopped down in her chair again, staring intensely at Scorpius, "why not choose a profession that's a bit more cheery? Why choose hell?"

"Do you remember History of Magic with Professor Binns?"

Rose groaned and nodded. "Oh Merlin, don't remind me of that. It was so boring."

"I know! But I still chose it for my N.E.W.T.s, simply because I knew it was important to know more about the history, to learn about all those things. His lessons were hell, we always said that. Yet I mastered it. And so did you. You were even better at it than I was."

Chuckling a little, Rose leaned back in her seat, letting her legs dangle. "Hell yes I was! Better in Care of Magical Creatures, too. I was the best one in our year. Never really got Potions or Herbology though. You were amazing at it."

"That's why I became a healer. And then a therapist. How come you didn't do anything with animals? I always thought you'd follow into your uncle's footsteps and maybe work with dragons or thestrals or other beasts."

"My mum had other plans. She was pretty much set on me working in the ministry. Well I kinda worked with animals before all of this happened. Because I was in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, in the Beast Division. Basically I showed up whenever a Beast messed up. I had to kill an Acromantula once because it attacked a Muggle. Fun fact: Merepeople asked to be classified as Beasts even though they're technically Beings but they didn't want to be associated with other Beings such as Vampires. Same for Centaurs."

"You weren't happy there, were you?"

"Nope. It was mostly bureaucracy work."

"You're more the outdoor-adventure type. Do you remember the lesson of Care of Magical Creatures in which we worked with Fwoopers? You kept complaining about how boring they were and repeatedly asked to lift the Silencing Charm just so we could hear its song."

"I bet it's a beautiful song. Shame we weren't allowed to listen to it."

"Rose, its song can turn people insane."

"Yeah but not within an hour. No harm would've been done. Such pity. It was a beautiful creature though. Such beautiful green feathers! They were so soft. Did you touch him?"

"I didn't dare."

She rolled her eyes at him and lightly threw a pillow. "Coward."

"And proud of it," he grinned at her.

Smiling lightly, she leaned back in her chair. "So what's gonna happen now, hm? Here in Hell."

"You'll stay. Because you talked. Because we have something to talk about now. If you would've kept silent, you would've been released after six weeks because we cannot hold you in here longer than that against your will. It would be illegal. But now... now you stay."

"So you tricked me."

"I didn't trick you."

"You tricked me, Scorpi... pardon me, Dr. Malfoy."

"Rose, I didn't..." He leaned forward slightly, reaching his hand out to her.

She stood up and placed herself behind the chair, both of her hands on its backrest. Rose simply stood there, staring at him. He couldn't quite read her emotions, which had to say a lot, him being a therapist and generally excellent at figuring someone out with just a short glance.

Back in school, he had already noticed this spectacular curiosity a few times. They hadn't exactly been friends, more like close acquaintances who liked to pick fights with each other a lot. Never fights in which they insulted each other, mind you. Both were too well raised to go around offending friends of friends.

But their arguments – usually about their individual views on class-related topics – had caused him to see her in similar states before. It was always the same. She squinted, her hazel eyes seemed darker but the amber spot in her left eye practically started to glow golden like setting sun. Her cheeks were flushed and the tips of her ears turned pink.

That was the state she was in right now, hands clinging so hard on the backrest that her knuckles had turned white.

"Rose, I understand that you're upset, but you have to..."

"I don't have to do shit," she growled, "You got me into this institution in the first place and now you're keeping me here? Fuck you."

"I get why you feel betrayed, especially given that we two know each other."

"Spare me that therapist-crap. Is our session over yet?"

Scorpius glanced at his watch and shook his head. "Not yet. We still have 15 minutes. Don't you think we should talk about this? You feel betrayed and you're upset and we can work with that. We can work with those feelings."

"I don't want to work with you. Never again. I'll ask the board to get me that horrible female doctor back."

"What's so bad about her? Honestly, I think she's a really nice and sweet person."

"Rumour has it that you're boning her."

"And that's what's wrong with her?"

"So you are?"

"I'm not. Relationships between colleagues are strictly forbidden."

"So you would if you could."

"No, I would not. But that is actually none of your concern. Do you like her better now that you know I don't do her?"

"That has nothing to do with it. I just cannot have her around me. Whenever I see her I feel like..." She shook her head and closed her moth. No more talking, she had said it. And yet here she was, ranting about his colleague, possibly revealing more about herself than she desired.

"You know it doesn't get better when you don't talk."

"It doesn't get better when I talk. So fuck it, shut it, and let me be."

Scorpius let out a resigned sigh. With everyone else, he would've probably argued. He would've pushed buttons, made his patient angry or tried to make them cry. But not with Rose. Not with someone he knew, someone he had always valued. Not especially as a friend, but as a clever, charming, and courageous young woman, who had been in his life ever since he started his education at Hogwarts. Even if they hadn't been close, he had been – and still was – her cousin Albus' best friend. He knew Rose, even though he didn't really know her per se.

He was attached to her through some weird connection.

A feeling deep inside of him, buried beneath the balancing act of work and private life, which always crept on the surface whenever he laid eyes on her. It didn't emerge when he only thought about her; it was her physical presence which caused a slight tug in his stomach.

It was probably because he knew exactly how Albus had felt after her attempted suicide. He knew his friend's pain, he heard his accusations – both towards himself and towards Rose – but he also knew Rose's pain, heard her story. He was tearing apart. But he could not give up on her. Not ever. She was his responsibility and he knew he could help her better than anyone. He could manipulate her into talking and he knew exactly how. But it had to wait until their next session.

As they had sessions only every second day, Rose didn't need to face him soon again. Of course she had to participate in certain group activities such as playing board games. She quite liked Exploding Snaps, yes, but it did not compare to the fun of Quidditch. Sadly, they were not allowed to play it as too much harm could be done to the patients. Many of them were still suicidal and Quidditch would only offer them opportunities to act on their feelings.

Rose would have given everything to be able to play Quidditch right now. It had always been her outlet for her emotions. The wind on her face, the loops she flew, the sheer freedom and excitement. As much as she hated to admit it: Quidditch would do her some good now.

It wasn't until she was alone in her bed that she realised she might have a chance at playing Quidditch just soon enough.

This was Hell and Scorpius himself had admitted it. And if this was Hell, if it truly was, and if Scorpius was the one to drag and keep her here, did that make her Persephone? And if so, couldn't she change the rules? If Persephone could take over Hell, so could Rose.