Hello all. I had this idea and I thought I'd get it written down....
I own nothing let alone the HP universe that J.K. Rowling or Joss Whedon has come up with.
Anyway, enjoy, review, etc. etc.
And join my yahoogroup: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/firegoddessHPBtVSfanfiction/
“Hi, my name is Harry Potter and I’m a dark-magic addict,” he said, his voice grim.
“Good, Harry,” the therapist, a pretty young American by the name of Willow Rosenberg said. “The first step is admitting that you have a problem.”
“But do I still have to introduce myself when you and I are the only ones in the room?” he winced in embarrassment, deciding to take advantage of the large couch he was sitting on, in Willow’s office at St. Mungos and lying back.
Willow nodded cheerfully. “Um-hm. Not only is it informative, but it’s amusing for me to cause you embarrassment.”
Harry just shot her a sarcastic look and waited for her to tell him what to do next. This was his first meeting with this particular therapist, the seventh in a long line of doctors he had thrown away over the past few months after defeating Voldemort. They had all been either too interested in his fame, or too interested in the transference of powers that had come from Voldemort as he died, through the scar and into Harry. Indeed, Harry had had….difficulties after the final battle. Bad dreams, violent mood swings and pain from his scar had sent him on a downward spiral through the world of the dark arts in an attempt to ease the pain and take away the memories. He had only hit bottom when Remus and Sirius (taken back from the veil a year ago mysteriously, Harry still didn’t know who had done that) had caught up with him at Godric’s Hollow, about to bring his dead parents back to life. He had broken down, but not shattered and his friends and family had insisted that he get some help. He had agreed, not liking the looks of fear that had shown up on even his closest friends faces. All but Hermione and Ron that is. Seeing the problems he was having finding reliable help, Hermione recommended Willow Rosenberg, one of her colleagues at St. Mungos, to him.
Willow was an American witch who had apparently been where he had been, something that none of the other therapists he had visited could say. This was comforting for Harry in a world where he was aware of constantly being judged for his dark actions. Even at the Ministry where he worked as an Auror, they were afraid of him DESPITE the fact that the reason why he had gone on his dark magic binge was because he had been defeating Voldemort. Never mind that he had saved the world from his menace. No, Harry had returned from that first bout of rehabilitation right after his breakdown to find that his field position had been changed to a desk job.
And that was why he was here. The Ministry had promised him that if a psychiatrist pronounced him fit for fieldwork, then he would be allowed his old job back.
“So, Harry, tell me about yourself,” Willow prompted quietly, breaking the wizard in front of her out of his inner musings.
“What do you want to know?” he asked sullenly. Apparently he had been wrong. All his other sessions had started out this way and none of them had gone well, usually ending with him leaving early in anger, his eyes black and his skin gone pale and veiny. The first time it had happened, Sirius and Remus, who had moved in with him after his breakdown at his request, had had to calm him down, eventually resorting to the tranquilizers that Hermione had sent over for such occasions. The problem with these was that they generally did more harm than good, sending Harry into a drugged and unnaturally happy stupor. Indeed, he generally looked and felt stoned after he took them.
Willow shrugged. “I’ve read your file, I’ve talked to Hermione. I know the basics so let’s just cut through the first few years and get to the root of the problem. What’s on your mind?”
Harry looked at her in shock, sitting up on the couch. Not one of the therapists in the last few months had approached a session in this manner. He liked it, but shrugged in return, not wanting her to know how impressed he was by her candour and rapport as a doctor. “Not much. That’s the problem.”
Willow listened intently, leaning back in her chair. “Why’s that?”
Harry shrugged again, lying down again. “I’m having trouble feeling…anything. Before, it was different. At least I felt pain. That’s what drove me to do what I did, to end the pain. But now…people look at me different, like they’re afraid. I don’t know how to reassure them that’s not going to happen again, well, probably not.”
Willow nodded, understanding completely. “Hermione was telling me that Voldemort transferred all his powers to you before he died? How’re you dealing with that?”
Harry let out a harsh laugh. “I’m not. I don’t think it’s hit me yet, even after months of dealing with it. It’s starting to though, slowly.” He turned on his side to prop himself up on an elbow. “They all look at me funny you know. As if they expect me to take his place.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I’m embarrassed, scared that they’re right. What if they are?” He dropped his eyes to the floor. “What did Hermione tell you about me by the way?” He asked, changing the subject.
Willow raised an eyebrow in his direction. Changing the subject. She would come back to that one later and deal with it. For now, she would indulge him. After all, this was just their first session. “That you were one of her two best friends. The more levelheaded one if I remember correctly. That you had had quite possibly the worst thing happen to you in the last year and that you needed my help.” She was silent a moment, letting her words sink into the room. “And that with my past I’m probably the best person for the job.”
“Yes, I’d heard about that,” Harry murmured.
“At least you didn’t try to end the world. Raising your parents from the dead was childs play comparatively and there lies the hope. You came back from it, which, contrary to popular belief, is easier said than done, even with supporting friends and family. You’re going to get better and I’m here to help you do that.” She said softly. “Now then, where were we?” she looked down at the notes she had taken. “Ah yes. There.” She looked back up at him. “Let’s talk about Voldemort.