Prologue

It was a quiet fall evening when Mrs. and Mr. Lavender decided they'd had enough. So, as they went on their way to a supposed "picnic", their oblivious child continued her day like any other.

"And mother believes my teacher is wonderful, isn't that ridiculous?" The undersized 5 year old girl continued to speak cheerfully to an obvious expanse of empty air. "She's mean! She made me sit in a corner 3 times, and had me clean the chalk board erasers! If that's not mean, I don't know what is!"

Mrs. Lavender sighed as she looked back through the rearview mirror. Her blue eyes were scathing as she thought again how wretched it had all turned out. Her husband and she had a very difficult time conceiving a child. When they finally discovered she was with child, they spent the immediate months preparing. But, despite the joy of the whole thing, Mrs. Lavender had noticed the odd ways of her child's eyes the moment she was born.

At first, Mr. Lavender had shaken it off as nothing, telling his wife she was simply anxious. The child would be fine. None-the-less, he indulged her in the many trips to the doctor, who confirmed his hypothesis. Still, Mrs. Lavender insisted. Any doctor in the U.S. that was willing to see them, they would see.

At the age of one, their daughter began to talk. Mr. Lavender was overjoyed, while Mrs. Lavender had been hesitant to approach the child. It wasn't till a week later that Mr. Lavender noticed what his wife had seen all along. Their daughter was conversing with someone who wasn't there.

After that, they saw doctor after doctor who felt little concern, even though the event was supposedly unusual. They said she was just babbling to herself. Desperate, they moved to England, where a doctor specialized in that type of illness. By then, she was nearly 3.

At first, the doctor had been too busy, and believed that she needed to be thoroughly examined to qualify for an appointment. So off they went to 15 different psychologists, who took note of her concerns and assured them that their child had an imaginary friend, and that it was nothing to worry about for it was a good thing at this age.

The last psychologist they visited they entered the room already exasperated and moody. They sat their child in front of him and sat in their own respective chairs, crossing their arms with equally agitated huffs. He was quite surprised by their demeanors.

"So, you come believing your child is, what… delusional?"

Mr. Lavender was about to protest at the phrasing, but his wife quickly silenced him.

"Yes!"

Dr O'Leary sighed, before speaking gravely. "Imaginary friends are normal…"

"But she's been like this since birth!" Mrs. Lavender interrupted haughtily. "She is my baby! But there is something wrong with her! She doesn't look at us, doesn't talk to us! This. Isn't. Normal!"

The doctor blinked, and then turned to the child. "My dear, what are your friends like?"

She didn't respond, continuing the odd murmuring she did without much volume. The doctor could not understand what she was saying.

"Perhaps she should see Doctor Murray, then. Just a precaution, although I do believe it is a simple case of growing up and healthy development." He then wrote out a note, and told them he'd set up the appointment time with the other doctor for the next day.

By the time they saw the doctor, their daughter was already 4 ½ years old, nearing the time where she'd have to start school. She had already been delayed.

Doctor Murray shared a conversation with their daughter in private, while the two of them hung outside the room, pacing in anticipation. When they were called to come back in, they expected the same answer they'd gotten from everyone else. She'd be fine; it was simply an imaginary friend.

Instead, he looked at them gravely with a sad smile. "I think there is something wrong with your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Lavender."

From there, their child went through test after test, brain scans and cognitive tests, motor function tests, eye and ear examinations. In the end, Doctor Murray concluded that their daughter had Schizophrenia, and explained to them the necessary drugs that would need to be administered, and the probable difficulty of actually getting her to willingly take them. Likelihood was, she would refuse them due to the side effects.

This was shortly after her fifth birthday then, and the Lavenders returned home somber with the realization that their child could never be normal.

On that fall afternoon, 2 months after her fifth birthday, Mrs. Lavender sat beside her husband on the couch, crying as they made their decision. They couldn't keep the mentally unhealthy child. They already lost so much money on the diagnosis, they could never afford the drugs. And the stress! Already they knew what they must do.

At exactly 3:00, their child ran into the house talking to a friend about how the teacher had nearly made her stay for detention, when Mrs. Lavender stood up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her husband followed suit.

"Sweetheart, we are going for a picnic."

Half an hour later, the little girl was standing at the door of the orphanage; suitcase placed on her left side as her parents drove away, telling her that she'd be happier there. And for once in her life, she was completely alone.

She hummed as she hung the clothes from the line, standing on a group of baskets so as she could reach. None of her friends had approached her since she'd been accepted into her home and sister Allie read the note her mother had left with her. She'd seen children come and go, while she was always there. She was almost 6 by then.

To her left she saw movements in the trees, and jumped carefully off her baskets so as to have a ore level look. She pulled her long brown hair from her eyes as she stared, hoping to recognize the man. Hopefully it was Greg, the man from the war come to play with her again.

It was not, much to her dismay. Th man was adorned in a long black cloak, much unlike what she usually saw. His hair reached past his ears, and his nose was long and sharp. She'd never seen such a man as sad as this. She approached him warily.

"Hello?" She called gently.

He jumped, and whirled around to meet her wide, curious gaze. There was no reply.

"Hello, sir," she tried again, and walked closer to him. He watched in apparent indifference, as if she were a nuisance. It was similar to the last look shed received from her mother.

"Are you lost, sir?"

Still, he did not reply.

"Are you a wanderer, then? Can no other see you as I can?"

This seemed to catch his attention, but he did not give any kind of agreement.

She smiled then. "Are you here to be my friend?"

He did not reply.

She stepped even closer, till she was only an arm length away. "My name is Cecilia, Cecilia Lavender. What's your name?"

The man stood in continued silence, and Cecilia began to doubt the man would ever speak to her. She sighed, and begam to leave.

"Severus."

She stopped, and turned to look at him again.

"My name is Severus."