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Solo | dNPCs: Katerina Campbell, Raina Cosner, & Dr. Hallee Sherman

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Location: Camberley, England
Cosner Residence, Golf Drive
February 3, 2020
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𝓢unshine filtered through the blinds of Amadea's room as the birds chirped. It was like the beginning of a movie scene, she thought to herself as she rolled over in bed, not ready to get up and start the day yet. The beautiful day didn't accurately represent how she was feeling internally and she didn't want to get up and face her feelings and another day. Though, today she had an extra reason not to want to get up. Amadea's mother had thought it was a good idea to start seeing a shrink to help the girls, and herself, through Raziel's death. While Amadea knew that her mother only had her best interests in mind, the last thing she wanted to do was spend her morning talking to a stranger about her feelings.

"Amadea!" Her sister's voice echoed through her door. After a quick knock, Amadea opened her eyes slightly as she watched her sister walk into the room and plop down on her bed. "Time to get up sleepyhead," she said. "Today's a big day." Amadea rolled over, trying to pull the covers over her head, not wanting to get up. "No," Kat said, grabbing the sheets before Amadea could hide. "I know this sucks," she said in a gentler tone, brushing Amadea's hair away from her face. "But this is important. Even if you don't think you can get anything out of it, do it for Mum." As much as she hated to admit it, Amadea knew Kat's words were true. With a sigh, she pushed away the covers and got out of bed.

It felt like minutes later that the three women had piled into the Cosner car and were headed to the office. Amadea's mother sat in the lobby with the two girls, planning out who was going to go first and what they were supposed to talk about while there. When it was finally Amadea's turn, she took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the office. Inside, she found a woman sitting in a chair. She was fairly young, probably around her mother's age, and was wearing thick black glasses. In her hand was a notepad, which Amadea could imagine she would scribble her notes on while she attempted to extract Amadea's deep, dark secrets.

"Hi Amadea," the woman said, giving the girl a friendly smile. "I'm Dr. Hallee Sherman. Please feel free to call me whatever you want, Dr. Sherman, Hallee, anything in between. Whatever you feel comfortable with." Amadea simply nodded. Dr. Sherman gestured to the chairs adjacent to her own. "Why don't you sit down and make yourself comfortable?" Amadea followed her instructions, sitting on one of the chairs, her spine rigid. "Your mother tells me you're a quiet person," Dr. Sherman remarked.

Amadea locked eyes with the woman as she said this as a question popped into her head. "What has my mother told you?" she blurted out before she could stop herself. It wasn't a rude question, but Amadea definitely didn't feel like her normally friendly self. She looked down at her hands, digging one of her nails into the side of her finger.

Dr. Sherman shifted in her seat before responding. "Your mother called and explained why you are here for grief counseling," she said to Amadea. "But I'd like to hear from you. Why are you here?"

Amadea looked up again. "My dad died," she said, voice completely monotone. Why was this woman asking her these questions? It wasn't like she didn't already know the full story and Amadea wasn't about to explain it all to her. That would be a waste of both of their times.

It seemed as though Dr. Sherman realized that Amadea wasn't going to open up so easily, so she began talking. "Grief is a hard thing to deal with," she said to Amadea. "Loss is a natural part of life but it is one of the hardest challenges to live with. I'm here to try and help you go through this struggle, to make sure that you're not alone. I like to preface initial meetings by explaining the model of J. W. Worden. He outlined a very good framework that describes how to process grief. The steps are one: accepting the reality of the loss, two: working through the pain of grief, three: adjusting to life without the deceased, and four: maintaining a connection to the deceased while still moving forward with your life. This is a lot and its not just like checking off items on a checklist; these steps are going to take a lot of hard work and time to complete. However, these steps are crucial in processing your grief and finding happiness again. My goal for our time spent together is to work through all of these steps together and healthily process all of these emotions."

As much as Amadea wanted to hate the woman, she knew that what Dr. Sherman said made sense. But of course it made sense, given the fancy degrees plastered on the wall behind the woman. Just because she studied what it was like to lose someone didn't mean she knew what Amadea was going through. Just as quickly as Amadea had a change of heart, it froze back up again. She wasn't going to spill her emotinos to a stranger, not even if it was a licensed professional. Why couldn't her mother have just looked up these steps online and worked through them as a family? This woman wasn't part of the family. If Raina was trying to replace the hole their father left, she was doing a shitty job.

"Great," Amadea said unenthusiastically. She was being a bitch, and she was completely aware, but considering that her father had died and she had been dragged to this horrible place, she figured that she had the right to be.

Dr. Sherman sighed again, as if sensing that Amadea wasn't going to open up. "Why don't you start off by telling me a little bit about your father," she suggested.

Amadea fought the urge to roll her eyes as she heard the doctor's request. Tell her about Amadea's father. It was an easy enough question to answer. She opened her mouth to speak, but realized that nothing was coming out. So many memories had flooded her brain and she found herself at a loss for words. Images, snapshots of time flashed before her eyes as she sat in the room with Dr. Sherman; while her body was there, her mind was somewhere else: Amadea and her father playing marbles at the kitchen table when she had a nightmare, her father pushing her on the swings, her father helping her when she scraped her knee and comforting her while she cried, her father's warm embrace when she received her Hogwarts letter, the last words he had spoken to her before she left for her third year and never seen him again: You've grown into such a beautiful young woman. I'll miss you every day. I love you, Dea. Tears pricked at the back of Amadea's eyes as she heard his voice in her mind. God she missed him.

She looked back up at Dr. Sherman, determined not to let a tear fall. Unfortunately, her eyes betrayed her and a single droplet of water ran down her cheek. She quickly reached up and brushed it away. "I don't want to talk about my father," she said shortly. It was true. She didn't want to bring up the memories or the feelings attached to them.

"Okay why don't you tell me about yourself then," Dr. Sherman offered to Amadea, holding out a box of tissues as she spoke.

Reluctantly, Amadea took the tissues. "I'm Amadea, I'm thirteen," she said, listing off the boring facts about herself. "I go to H-I um, boarding school," she added. Sometimes she forgot who she was talking to; Muggles couldn't know about the wizarding world, which made it all the more confusing why she was here in the first place. How could this woman help her if she didn't know one of the biggest parts of Amadea's life? She sighed, not wanting to continue.

Thankfully, it seemed like the time of the session was drawing to a close. Dr. Sherman gave Amadea a warm smile. "I know this is difficult," she said to Amadea. "I want to help you, and I hope you'll let me." She stood, motioning for Amadea to do the same and stuck out her hand for a shake. Amadea reluctantly shook back. "I'll see you next week," Dr. Sherman said as Amadea scurried to the door. She mumbled something back about seeing the doctor next week and thought to herself, How do I convince Mum never to bring me here again?

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March 2, 2020 - April 8, 2020
Location: Camberley England

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𝓘t had officially been a month since Amadea had started seeing Dr. Sherman and not much had changed. Her dad was still gone, her sadness was still very present, and her attitude toward therapy remained unchanged. She saw no reason why she had to spend a dreaded hour each week sitting in this woman's stuffy office, refusing to open up. Seeing a therapist was bad enough, but why did she have to go to a Muggle one? Amadea couldn't even share her newfound worries about how she would catch up with her schoolwork or the fear that all of her friends were moving on without her. Sure, she could brush upon the subjects (not that Amadea shared anything at all with Dr. Sherman) but she couldn't explain anything fully.

Amadea was seated, like usual, in the chair across from Dr. Sherman's desk, arms crossed and staring at the woman. She wondered how much longer it would be until Dr. Sherman gave up with Amadea and told her mother to stop bothering sending Amadea here. It was a waste of money...or maybe Dr. Sherman saw it as free money that she could get and not really have to worry about doing her job for the hour Amadea spent there each week. So far, Dr. Sherman had strictly stuck to what Amadea referred to as the 'textbook talk.' It was all of the stuff she definitely learned at university when she was studying to become a therapist, the words could have been straight out of a textbook. Amadea didn't really care about the scientists who studied the process of grief or how she was supposed to go through the stages. That was something she could easily figure out on her own; she didn't understand why she needed a therapist to do so.

"Grief is a hard thing," Dr. Sherman was saying. "It's a difficult process." Amadea rolled her eyes. Just because the woman had spent years studying grief didn't mean she knew the first thing about what it was like to be in Amadea's shoes. Amadea voiced this to Dr. Sherman, not really caring if the woman thought she was a bitch or not. The nice Hufflepuff that had existed only a few months earlier disappeared every time she stepped into this room.

Dr. Sherman paused, shaken by the verbal attack. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, gathering her thoughts before speaking. "Would you like to know why I became a psychologist?" Dr. Sherman asked. Amadea opened her mouth, ready to snap back a reply when she processed the words Dr. Sherman was saying. While Amadea didn't really particularly care why her therapist had decided to pursue the path she was on, Amadea was interested only because Dr. Sherman had never shared anything personal. This was another reason Amadea didn't like therapy; why was she supposed to spill all of her problems and secrets to a person that she knew virtually nothing about? "Sure," Amadea grumbled, sitting back ready to hear whatever the doctor was going to say.

"When I was twelve, my mother died," Dr. Sherman said. Amadea sat up. This was news. "My father was so distraught. Our family was distraught. My mother was the glue that held us together and without her, we didn't know how to function. Three years later, when I was fifteen, my older sister killed herself." Amadea put her hand over her mouth, in shock. "After that, my father began sending me to therapy. I was a lot like you when I first started out as well. I was cold; losing two of my family members in a short span made me a resentful and bitter person. I was harboring a lot of anger. But my therapist helped me through it. With her help, I was able to come out on the other side a stronger and better person. That's why I decided I wanted to help people in the same way that she helped me. So yes, I have spent a long time studying grief. But I have had my fair share of it as well."

Amadea's eyebrows creased. This certainly threw a wrench into every thought she had previously had. "I'm not telling you this because I want your pity," Dr. Sherman continued. "I'm telling you this because I know where you've been. Grief is a different journey for everyone, yet it also has it's similarities. I'm telling you this because I want to help you through your own grief. Will you let me help you?"

Amadea sat in silence as she took this all in. Will you let me help you? It was a simple question but one that Amadea didn't want to answer. All of this new information shd a new light on the woman that was sitting across from her, but Amadea still wasn't completely sure about what she should do. "I guess," she said finally, giving in.

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That was the turning point in Amadea and Dr. Sherman's relationship. From there, Amadea felt more comfortable opening up to the woman now that she knew more about her and Amadea found it surprisingly relieving to talk about how she was feeling. The only thing she didn't like was the assignments that she was given. They were often difficult and hard to complete, forcing her to face feelings she didn't want to.

As Amadea approached April, she was making a lot of progress. She was ready to return to school. As far as Dr. Sherman knew, Amadea attended a boarding school in Scotland. It wasn't a lie, but it also wasn't the full truth. "I'm ready," she insisted as she sat in the chair that had become a comfort rather than something she dreaded. "I'm ready to go back. I don't want this to cause me to repeat a year. If I go back now, I can catch up and finish on time."

Dr. Sherman nodded slowly. "I agree that I think you should be moving forward with your life," she said to Amadea. "But I'm afraid you still aren't completely in touch with your emotions. You're denying important feelings that need to surface." Amadea shook her head. Dr. Sherman was speaking nonsense. "I know I cannot stop you from going back to school," she said to Amadea. "But I will send you off with one assignment. When you go back to school, I want you to write letters to your father."

"Why would I do that?" Amadea interrupted. "It's not like he's going to be able to read them!" Dr. Sherman held up her head, silencing the girl.

"Just write him letters," she said. "When you return from summer break, I want you to bring the letters here and we can talk about them together." Amadea's brows knit together in confusion but she didn't say anything. Okay, she could write a few letters. She could find the time to scribble out a few words in between her classes. After all, how hard could it be?

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