The only family I have Left.

Chapter 28

The world was silent—utterly still. But this time, it wasn't the silence of the void that had kept Gracie captive for so long. No, this silence was different. It was the stillness of something waiting to happen, as if the world had held its breath in anticipation.

Gracie's eyes fluttered, the darkness pressing in on her lids like a heavy weight, refusing to let her open them. She could hear the faint hum of the hospital wing—the soft rustling of paper, the distant murmur of voices she couldn't quite understand. It felt like a dream, like she was floating between two worlds.

Her chest rose and fell slowly, shallow breaths that felt more like whispers than real air. Her body felt stiff, unresponsive, yet there was a flicker inside her—a flicker of something that told her she wasn't entirely alone in the dark.

And then, a sound broke through. A familiar, soothing voice, though it seemed so far away.

"Gracie?" It was Madam Pomfrey's voice, and it sounded so distant, yet closer than anything else.

Gracie tried to speak, to respond, but her throat was dry, and the words refused to form. Her mouth felt like it had been filled with cotton, and her lips barely parted as she tried to force a sound. A raspy, broken whisper escaped her, barely more than a breath.

"M...m..."

She couldn't hear her own voice clearly, but she felt the movement in her throat, the slight vibration. It was as if she were on the edge of waking, on the cusp of something monumental, but unable to cross that boundary.

But then, like a soft light breaking through the fog, Madam Pomfrey's voice came closer, more insistent.

"Gracie, dear, can you hear me?" Madam Pomfrey's tone was gentle, yet filled with an urgency Gracie hadn't heard in a long time. There was a slight rustle, as if Pomfrey had moved closer to her bedside. "You've been asleep for so long. We've been waiting for you to wake up, child."

Gracie felt a twinge of panic. She wanted to open her eyes, to see, to know what was happening around her. But the effort felt too much. Her body refused to listen. She tried to speak again, her lips trembling, but only a faint, breathy sound escaped her lips.

"M...M..."

The door to the hospital wing creaked open, but Gracie's senses were too sluggish to place the voice that followed. Her chest tightened with frustration. She needed to move, needed to make a sound that would make sense to the world around her.

And then, without warning, she felt it—the smallest of touches. Madam Pomfrey's hand, warm and gentle, brushing against her cheek.

"You're awake," Pomfrey whispered, her voice full of both relief and wonder. "You're really awake, Gracie."

The weight of those words fell on her like a blessing, and Gracie's heart thudded loudly in her chest. She had been trapped in the dark for so long, but now, the fog was starting to lift. She was here. She was alive. She had made it back from the silence.

Slowly, very slowly, Gracie forced her eyes open. The light was blinding, and she squinted, unable to focus properly at first. But as her vision began to adjust, she saw the outlines of the hospital wing—familiar and comforting, even though it seemed so far away. The air smelled of disinfectant, the faint scent of potions mixing with the sterile atmosphere. She could hear the faint hum of the magic that filled the room, the soft rustling of sheets, and the slow, steady beat of her own heart.

But the most important thing she could hear was Madam Pomfrey's voice, calm and soothing.

"Gracie, dear," Pomfrey said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're awake. You've been asleep for so long. Do you remember where you are?"

Gracie's mind was a haze, like waking up from a dream, but she knew this. She was in the hospital wing. She was safe. She wanted to speak, wanted to tell Pomfrey that she was here, that she remembered, that she could hear. But her throat constricted painfully. Her lips parted, but no sound came.

Her hand twitched weakly, and Pomfrey's sharp eyes caught the movement.

"Don't try to speak just yet, dear," Pomfrey said gently, her hand still resting on Gracie's cheek. "You've been in a coma for months, Gracie. Your body is weak, but you're still here. You can rest for a bit longer."

But Gracie's heart was racing. Months? The word felt foreign to her. It didn't make sense. She had only just been in the hospital wing a few days ago—or had it been weeks? Had the world continued to spin without her?

A sudden, desperate need flooded her chest, a need that pressed against her ribs like a tightening knot. She wanted her mother. The one person who had always been there, always made things better. Her eyes were still closed, but she could feel the weight of her own loneliness pressing down on her. Her mind flashed with images of her mother's warmth, her gentle touch, her voice that could soothe any storm inside her.

Gracie struggled, pulling every ounce of strength she had left, forcing the words to come, even if they were weak and fragile.

"M...M...Mama..." she rasped, her voice barely more than a breath. It felt as though her chest might collapse with the effort.

There was a pause, and then the sound of Madam Pomfrey's voice, softer now, almost understanding. "I know, dear. I know you want her. She'll be here soon. You just need to rest."

Gracie's chest heaved with a weak, frustrated breath. She wanted to open her eyes, wanted to see her mother, but she couldn't move, couldn't do anything. The exhaustion of the last few moments began to overwhelm her, and her body, too heavy to hold up any longer, surrendered to the familiar dark, slipping back into unconsciousness.

Before the blackness claimed her once more, she heard Madam Pomfrey's voice in the distance, soothing and gentle.

"Rest now, Gracie. You're awake. And soon... soon, she'll be here."