The only family I have Left.

Chapter 25

Her body felt like it was sinking, her mind pulling away from the world around her. The world was dark and silent, yet far from empty. Gracie was aware of time passing—not in days or hours but in a slow, relentless rhythm. Her body was unresponsive, heavy and distant, but her mind remained sharp, tethered to the world by the voices that surrounded her.

She heard everything: the scrape of chairs, the hushed conversations, the soft rustle of sheets as someone adjusted her blankets. She could feel the faint warmth of hands holding hers, could sense when someone was near.

But she couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't open her eyes.

The hospital wing was her prison, a place where the world moved on while she remained still.

"She's stable," Madam Pomfrey's voice said one day—or night. Time had become meaningless. "But there's been no change."

Gracie heard Fred's voice, rough with exhaustion. "It's been months. Isn't there something we can do?"

"I've tried every healing spell I know," Pomfrey replied, her tone tinged with regret. "Her body is here, but her mind... it's somewhere else. Only she can decide when—or if—she'll come back."

Fred exhaled sharply, the sound filled with frustration and despair. "She's still here. I know she is."

Gracie wanted to shout, to let him know he was right. She was here. She heard every word, every plea, every whispered promise. But no matter how hard she tried, her body refused to obey.

Time blurred into a monotonous cycle of voices and silence.

Lily and James visited daily, their conversations a constant presence.

"She'd hate this," Lily said softly one day. "Being stuck like this, not able to talk or move. Gracie's always been so... alive."

"She's fighting," James said firmly. "She wouldn't give up, not Gracie."

Fred was always there, his voice a steady anchor. He spoke to her as if she could respond, sharing stories, updates, even jokes.

"You wouldn't believe what George tried to do in the shop today," he said once, his voice tinged with a forced cheerfulness. "Let's just say we're banned from another alley for life."

Gracie clung to his voice, drawing strength from his unwavering presence.

One day, the voices grew quieter, the room emptier.

"Fred, you need a break," Lily's voice said gently.

"I'm not leaving her," Fred replied stubbornly. "Not now, not ever."

"You're wearing yourself out," James interjected. "She'd hate to see you like this."

Gracie wanted to tell him to listen, to rest, to take care of himself. But the words stayed locked inside her, unspoken.

As the weeks stretched into months, Gracie began to notice patterns.

Madam Pomfrey's footsteps were brisk and purposeful, her voice firm as she directed the house-elves to change her bedding or adjust her potions.

Lily's presence was warm and comforting, her words soft and full of hope. She often hummed under her breath, a tune Gracie vaguely recognized but couldn't place.

James was steadier, quieter, but no less determined. He spoke of the outside world, of the victories and challenges they faced.

And Fred... Fred was her constant. His voice never wavered, even when she could hear the strain beneath it. He told her stories, read aloud from books, and sometimes just sat in silence, his hand wrapped around hers.

"Do you think she can hear us?" Lily asked one day, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I do," Fred said without hesitation. "I talk to her every day. I tell her how much I miss her, how much we all need her. I know she hears me."

Gracie's heart ached. She wanted to reach out, to squeeze his hand, to let him know she was still fighting.

One night, long after the hospital wing had fallen silent, Fred's voice broke the darkness again.

"I don't know how to do this without you," he whispered. His voice was raw, choked with emotion. "You're my best friend, Gracie. You're the one who keeps me grounded. If you're in there, if you can hear me... please, come back."

Tears pricked at the edges of her awareness, a heaviness settling in her chest. She wanted to scream, to tell him she was trying, that she wasn't giving up.

But her body remained still, silent, unresponsive.

The days passed in a blur of voices, sensations, and silence. Gracie's mind drifted, caught between hope and despair. But through it all, one thing remained constant: the love and determination of those who refused to give up on her.

And somewhere deep inside, a faint spark flickered—a reminder that she was still here, still fighting, still holding on.