Empty Gold • d.meadowes

-44-

The night that Dorcas spent at her father's that day was the worst she had experienced in her life.

After returning from her mother's house, Dorcas had gone to St. Mungo's with her father. Her mum was kept in an isolated cabin, covered in snow white sheets. She couldn't get herself to enter the room, and instead chose to watch her through the glass window. A healer had gone in to uncover her face, and Dorcas stared at her from a distance, watching the pale face and the slightly parted lips and the messy hair under her head.

She hadn't cried. Instead, she nursed a hollowness inside her chest as she stood there for what seemed like hours before Robert arrived and gently pulled her away.

Now, as Dorcas lay in bed wide awake, the sight of her mother's body kept flashing repeatedly in front of her eyes. Her stomach churned unpleasantly, making her want to throw up, although she hasn't eaten anything at all since morning. She felt undulating hatred and loathing building up inside her; hatred for herself, for the death eaters, for Voldemort. What has her mother done to deserve such a cruel end to her life? She wasn't even involved in the wizarding world in any shape or form, and barely knew anything about the war that was bubbling through the surface. It was only the fact that Dorcas had rejected the offer made by Emma Vanity, and this was perhaps a way for the Dark Lord to get back at her.

Dorcas didn't sleep that night. She couldn't. Blaming herself, hating herself, she lay awake in bed, recalling all the pleasant memories she had shared with her mother, those hours spent together talking and laughing and baking. I'm sorry, she whispered to herself. I'm sorry, Mum.

For it was, indeed, all her fault. She knew perfectly well the state the wizarding world was in and she should have foreseen the dangers her mum might have been in. She should have been careful, she should have ensured that her mother was safe. Instead, she had spent her days at Hogwarts wallowing in self pity, not even thinking of her mother for a second.

What was going through Jenna's mind during the last few moments of her life? Surely she had faced her attackers. Did she know that she was about to die? If so, was she scared? Did she think of her daughter, wish that she was there, that she could have seen her one last time? Dorcas was certain that was exactly what she was thinking, for her entire life had been devoted to her daughter, and she must have been thinking of her all the days and weeks she spent alone in this house.

Guilt coursed painfully through her veins. Dorcas turned to her side and stared at the wall by her bed, wishing she could smash her head against it. Something crinkled under her pillow as she shifted. Surprised, she slid a hand under it and pulled out a crumpled sheet of parchment. Even without looking, she knew what it was. It was the letter her mother had sent her, all those days ago. Her last letter, her last words to Dorcas.

She had forgotten about the letter. She remembered thrusting it at Professor McGonagall when she was in her office, and she had left it there before walking into the fireplace. Her father must have brought it back.

Taking her wand, she whispered, "Lumos," and the wand tip ignited with a faint bluish light. She read the letter, for perhaps the thousandth time.

Her mother sounded so excited. She could almost imagine her jumping with joy as she carefully wrote the letter, planning to tell her boyfriend Noel about Dorcas and Hogwarts. She must have been eagerly looking forward to bringing him to King's Cross Station to pick up Dorcas.

She frowned suddenly. Did she ever tell him about her? Where was Noel now? Did he know about Jenna's death? A crippling sensation clutched at her heart as she imagined what he must feel like. But since she couldn't possibly do anything about it now, Dorcas decided to push the matter to the back of her mind and worry about it later.