He wasn't sure how he ended up here. Really, seven year old Harry Potter truly had no idea. He supposed it all began when his cousin, Dudley, decided to beat the snot out of some kid and blame it on him. Did the teacher really believe he could beat a boy double his size? He wished! If he could do such a thing his cousin and his friends wouldn't mess with him.
The kid who got his ass kicked by Dudley was to afraid to say the truth so of course he got the blame for it. All of the adults seemed to thing he was some kind of miscreant. So of course they decided that he needed psychological help. Normally he would have had a quick chat with the school psychologist, but it seemed Lady Luck wasn't on his side. Apparently the old woman had died in her two days ago, and the new psychologist still hadn't arrived.
His teacher called his relatives about the situation. He had thought for sure that he was dead meat, his uncle would probably lock him without food for eternity. However that wasn't the case. While he did get thrown into the cupboard, like usual, his relatives were quite happy. They now had a reason to blame for my freaky business when they talked to the neighbors. Their poor, poor nephew was mentally ill, and it all came from the other side of the family.
Since my teacher and my relatives agreed that I needed 'help' has soon as I could, they told me to come to this place every day as soon as school finished. It was called the Azrael Mental Health Institute, although that was just a fancy name for nut house.
While he was sure that his relatives wanted his stay here to be permanent he was just told to come to group therapy. The only psychologist around was the one that worked here, at least until the one that would take the position at his school arrived. But the woman was too busy to just have a chat, so group therapy it was.
He took a seat on a chair, ignoring the world around him while he stared at his worn out shoes. Maybe having chats with mentally ill people would be more interesting than his normal routine. At the very least he didn't have to spent his afternoons after school doing slave work for his relatives.
He was seven, but he was far from stupid. We knew he was smarter than his cousin. He knew he was smarter than most of the kids his age. He supposed that the only reason for that was because most kids his age were coddled and didn't see the the real world.
The world that was hopeless, cold and not very merciful. He knew, because he knew that normal children weren't forced to work since they could stand on their feet. Because normal children didn't sleep in cupboards. Because normal children were given three meals per day. Because normal children were loved by their family.
But even so, even knowing what the world was really like, he still hoped. For love, for family, for something else far far away from his relatives. For Lady Luck to noticed his existence for once in his life. It was this silent hope that keep him alive and, at the same time, tortured his very own soul.
He felt someone take a seat in the chair next to his and stopped thinking about his own misery. He fidgeted a bit at the new presence but kept his eyes on the ground, hoping whoever sat next to him wouldn't say anything. After a few minutes in silence he got the courage to take a peek at his 'neighbor'.
She wasn't exactly what he thought about when he imagined a insane person. If she had been at a punk rock concert nobody would find anything amiss. But here, where everything was either white or a pale color, she was standing out from the rest.
She looked like one of the teens aunt Petunia was always complaining about, scoundrels his aunt called them. But emos, punks, goths, junkies we're words he also remembered his aunt saying. He couldn't exactly tell her age. She looked like a teen, yet she had a aura around her that screamed power. Like some of the teachers when they got pissed.
Her dark locks were up in a messed up bun, strands for hair falling down in chaos. The only make up on her was the one around her eyes, a disarray of dark shadows. She was dressed like she had woken up in a hurry and had picked the first comfy things she had found, unlike the rest of the female population around the world. Her image was one of turmoil and wreckage.
He was about to look away when her eyes met his, and he froze up. He hadn't known what her age was, but now he knew she was far older than she looked. At least mentally. Her eyes reminded him of the eyes of old people, really old people. Their color, blue, only made it worse.
"What are you looking at?" She inquired, although he couldn't trace any hostility.
"Sorry." He mumbled, forcing himself to stare at the ground once more.
"Aren't you a little bit too young to be a nut job?" The girl, woman, crone inquired as she shifted her head to look at him.
"Just here for the group therapy." He replied, somewhat afraid of not answering to her.
"Really?" She inquired. "Me too. Are you here too because of Mila kicking the bucket?"
He nodded silently. Mila Hopkins was the physiologist that used to work at his school before she died. But this woman didn't seem like she went to his school so why was she here? He curiously took a glance at her again, and it seemed she understood his questioning look.
"That old bat was in charge of the all the schools around here. Not that she did her job right anyway." The dark haired woman informed him. "The only reason I'm here is because she's dead."
"Me too." He replied.
"Well, if they send a kid to the nut house for group therapy you must be quite the devil." She said, taking a long glance at him. "Either that or your teachers are the ones that should be locked in here."
He couldn't contain the snort that escaped his lips at the though of his teacher, but also his relatives, locked up in the nut house. Priceless.
"I like you kid, you can call me Freya by the way." The woman, Freya, said giving me a wink.
"Harry." He informed, giving her a nod.
"Harry, what a lovely name." She whispered loud him to ear, he was about to look at her when a dark skinned lady entered the room and took a seat. Only then did he noticed that all the chair were full now. He decided not to examine the others closely, for now at least. Although he could see a woman playing with a headless doll a few chairs away from his, and a young man that continued to scratch himself nonstop. He mentally sighed.
"Good afternoon, I'm doctor Amnell" The doctor greeted, as she pulled his looked around. "Welcome to group therapy."
From the corner of his eye he saw the smile that once stood in Freya face disappear as soon as she saw the doctor. The cold expression that stood in her face could freeze an ocean.
For some reason that made him cautious about this new woman.
Now when Death decided that her Master's fate would be changed, she wasn't sure how she would do it. While Death was Timeless, Death also didn't went against Fate and Destiny. Well, most of the time.
The only way to change her Master's fate was to change it when the meddlers weren't around. And when she said meddlers she wasn't just talking about Fate and Destiny, but also about that Dumbledore guy.
She couldn't really change the death's of her Master's parents. It was a stone forced by Fate, with the help of Destiny. They had been Fated to die, it was their Destiny to die protecting their only child. As such she also could not stop her Master from being sent to live with his awful relatives.
She wanted nothing than to rip their souls from the living world, for the crimes they had committed against her Master. Again this was a forced stone. Master had been Fated to suffer in his childhood on the hand of his own blood, and it was his Destiny to live through it. She had meant what she had told her Master, Fate and Destiny had really screwed him over too much. It wasn't like Death could lie. Death is the ultimate truth after all.
As such she waited, until none of the forced stones and the meddlers were in her away. To change her Masters past she first had to create a ripple, do something that tipped the previous past from the possible future. Gladly for her there was only one thing that could change the timeline, death.
A simple death would cause time to unravel and to be rewritten a new. So she searched left and right, a soul that could bring that change and that yet did not have much to live for. Death was just, and as such only the guilty were punished with eternal damnation before their time.
She finally found a candidate, one that deserved to die before her time. Her name was Mila Hopkins, she was a psychologist at her Master's school, and all the surrounding schools. Mila had been a very naughty girl.
As a psychologist it was her duty to see to the mental well being of the children in her care, her Master included, however the old woman didn't care. She only cared about receiving her paycheck at the end of the month. Two months ago there had been a suicide, one girl from a high school that Mila had been in charge of had slit her wrists right in the middle of class. Mila knew the girl had a depression, and that suicide had been on the girls thoughts. But she didn't care, she believed the girl wasn't her responsibility.
A life for a life. If only she had cared enough, to at least try to help the teenager she would have lived a few more years. As it was this was her punishment. Not to mention the fact that the old woman had already had a few chats with her Master and believed the was abused by his relatives. But once again the woman didn't care.
The bitch drowned in the tub, like a cat begging for her life. Death found it amusing enough to stay by and watch as the old woman drew her last breath. And as such the die was cast.
Master was accused of one of his cousins misdeeds, and was sent to do group therapy at the nearest mental institution. In the old time line the old woman had not died, and her Master only had to have a five minute long chat with her before being sent on his way. One death could change so much.
She took a seat, and looked around. This place smelled like desperation and death, and she could taste insanity in her tongue. Maybe bringing her Master to such a place hadn't been her best idea, but he had to get used to it. The world wasn't all Yin and Yang, the twenty year old version of her Master had found out that the hard way.
When he was a child, at the age he was now, he had though the world was all dark. When he went to Hogwarts, his perceptions changed, and he started to believe that light was there to battle against the darkness of the world. After the war he finally understood that the true balance of the world isn't in the white or the black, but in the grey. The sooner her dear Master understood that the better for him.
She caught a glimpse of emerald green eyes on her and asked. "What are you looking at?"
"Sorry." Her Master mumbled, and looked away. As if her Master needed to apologize for looking her way.
"Aren't you a little bit too young to be at a nut job?" She asked, trying to make some sort of conversation.
"Just here for the group therapy." He replied, and she was glad he even replied at all.
"Really?" She asked. "Me too. Are you here too because of Mila kicking the bucket?" Indeed, she was only here for group therapy, because it was where he was.
He nodded silently.
"That old bat was in charge of the all the schools around here. Not that she did her job right anyway." She informed him, and she couldn't hide her distaste for the woman from her voice. "The only reason I'm here is because she's dead." Indeed, if the woman hadn't died she could have not interfered.
"Me too." He replied.
"Well, if they send a kid to the nut job for group therapy you must be quite the devil." She said, taking a long glance at him. Her little Master was anything but the devil, the only reason he was her Master in the first place was because he never wished, not even once, too use her power for his own gain. "Either that or your teachers are the ones that should be locked in here."
The little Master snorted.
"I like you kid, you can call me Freya by the way." She said, giving him one of her many names. Freya had been the name given to the Norse goddess associated with death. She supposed it was one of her many name that sounded somewhat normal. Each culture had different names, different tittles, different gods and goddesses of death and each with a weirder name than the previous one.
"Harry." He informed, giving her a nod.
"Harry, what a lovely name." She whispered to herself, because his name sounded so small and yet so strong. Like him.
"Good afternoon, I'm doctor Amnell" The doctor greeted, as she sat on a chair. "Welcome to group therapy."
The moment she saw this woman, all her thoughts disappeared. She was radiating power, her strong presence ensured it. Her soul was golden, Death had only see a few souls such as this.
Whoever this woman was, she definitely wasn't human.