Clarissa Snape [incomplete]

nine

—The Tragedy—

The next morning, my father woke me frantically, probably ready to dump an ice bucket on my head.

"Clarissa Eileen Snape, wake up! Now!" he shouted after a couple tries at waking me sweetly.

"We must get to St. Mungo's!" he yelled.

Those words caused me to shoot up in my bed and throw on a new shirt—I was still in my uniform.

I slipped on a pair of shoes that were charmed to tie themselves and ran down the stairs before latching onto my dad and apparating.

We quickly ran to the receptionist and she asked for my mum's name.

"Marissa Sn— Kenkidu," said father.

I had no idea why he was so frantic but it surely didn't ease my nerves.

She told us the floor and room number like we didn't already know, and instead of using the elevator, we apparated up to her room.

We met a doctor outside and he had us sit down in a couple chairs before he went off explaining everything.

"She was recovering miraculously until last night. We informed you, Mister Snape, because we don't know when she'll recover or if she will for that matter. She is stable at the moment if you would like to see her," he said, looking up from the notes on his clipboard.

"We would," said father. The doctor nodded and let us into her room.

When I saw her my heart dropped.

Her cheeks were tear stained and her hair was a mess. Her eyes were swollen along with her nose and she looked as those she were only made of skin and bones.

Tears fell from my eyes immediately and my father nudged me forward to speak with her.

I slowly walked to her and took one of her bony hands in my own.

"Mum?" I croaked. Her eyes fluttered open and made contact with mine.

"Issa?" she asked, squeezing my hand.

"Yes, yes mummy. It's me," I choked and wiped a couple tears with my free hand.

"Oh, darling. I'm sorry to do this to you," she sighed.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, my heart beating rapidly.

She was about to answer when she flinched.

"Mum?"

"Who are you?" she asked and snatched her hand in mine and looked around the room, frightened.

"What do you mean? It's me mum!" I said, letting even more salty drops of water fall from my small, girly tear ducts.

"I don't have a daughter!" she screamed and sat up and waving her hands around at non existent bugs.

"Get away! Get away!" she shrieked then flinched again. She dropped her arms and laid back down.

"I'm sorry sweetie. That happens sometimes," she said, looking up at me with her watery green eyes.

"I love you mum. I love you so much. So does dad, he just won't admit it," I said, taking her hand once more.

"I love you both too," she said.

She flinched again.

This time she didn't forget me or where she was. Nor did she swat at bugs that were invisible to our eyes.

She started screaming in pure agony.

Her back arched off the bed and her hand slipped from mine and looked at her in pure horror as she started jerking around.

A doctor pulled me back and they threw my dad and I out of the room.

I burst out crying, this time sobbing and choking rather than small tears.

My dad's arms engulfed me and I latched onto him as though he were my lifeline.

"Please be okay. Please be okay," I sobbed, gripping the fabric that clothed my father.

We couldn't see what was happening in the room. They had closed the curtains. The only thing telling me what was happening was her screams. They could make chills like no other jolt up your spine. I was shaking and crying while my dad rubbed my back and swayed me. I could tell he was crying too.

A minute or two later, a nurse emerged from the room and shook her head.

Everything stopped. The world stopped. My heart stopped. My breathing and crying stopped. It all stopped.

I sucked in a gasp of physical and mental pain before my knees went weak and I collapsed onto the white tiles.

She was dead. My mother was dead. The woman that I love and care for. The one who raised me and helped me when I was sick over all of those summers was now gone. Never coming back.

I sat there on my knees, sobbing once again into my hands while my father cried silently above me. He was never one to show much emotion and I respected that.

It hurt so much. It hurt more than any pain I had every felt. She was gone. Gone. Never coming back. There was nothing I could do.

She was gone.

—

Father and I sat at a muggle golf course in a small wooden hut that was on the side and looked out at all the green grass and the clouds that passed.

We sat there for hours, not talking, not moving. We just stared into the distance.

We decided to bury my mum in a meadow under and oak tree. She always loved nature and flowers. She was one with nature; it was one of her best qualities.

Thinking about her made me cry again.

I didn't bother to dry the tears. I let them fall freely. There was no point in wiping them away when more would fall.

I noticed how the bees buzzed from flower to flower, helping them grow. I noticed the trees swaying with the gusts of wind that also took my hair and flapped it around in my face as though playing a game. The grass was so green that I couldn't stare at it too long or my eyes would hurt.

Before I knew it, it was dark and I was staring at the moon. It was a full moon. A very beautiful full moon.

It was bright and lit up everything it touched in a more beautiful way than the sun ever could. It helped you identify what you were looking at but gave the gift of mystery.

"We should go," said father, not moving.

He stared blankly at he shadowed floor in front of us, completely missing the beauty above his own nose.

"Look at the moon," I said, ignoring his first comment. He obliged and looked up. The moonlight shone on his face giving him a whole new look.

The moon made him look younger. No happier than before, just youthful.

"It's beautiful," he said, staring up at the glowing orb. I looked back at it and took in it's light once more.

"It is very beautiful. Look at how it gives the night life," I said softly, admiring the way it played on my fingers.

"Yes," he whispered, "If only she were her to see such a gorgeous night. One that others don't admire. They lay in their bed, drive in their cars, fly on their broomsticks, or cook right under it. They don't stop to admire the beautiful things in life."

"The simplest things in life."

And that's a wrap folks! I will post my little note for part two with this and then we've to wait till next weekend for the first chapter of part two! I cried writing this. Anyways, have a nice day/night/afternoon/any holiday you may be celebrating