Lia Kim is in her fourth year when she finally returns to Hogwarts. She is received with open arms by everyone, expect her own house who fears her status and despises her alliances. Especially one particular Slytherin can't seem to stop bothering he...
I passed out at noon. Too much screaming and crying can apparently exhaust a person. I had awoken to my bed in the hospital wing which they had strapped me to. Harry laid in the bed right next to me, a constant reminder of what I had done, driving me to the edge of insanity. I supposed the shackles they had given me were appropriate. I think at one point I had tried to rip my eyes out, images of things I did not want to see coming back to me.
Harry stayed unconscious the next day whilst I was wide awake. My bed kept rustling and I didn't know why until I finally figured it was because I was shaking so much.
My brother was...dead. Johnny had died while protecting me. Foolish, worthless me. I should have died instead of him. I wanted to die.
What was left of me? I was nothing but a psychotic killer, my once best friend on the verge of death next to me to prove it.
I think the thing that pushed my will to die wasn't even the returning memories, the returning pain, but his gaze. My father's gaze, the only person despite Miss Pomfrey and the teachers who had been allowed to enter this place so far.
He looked scared. Of me, his own daughter. The second I saw him I remembered why. Last time I saw him I threatened to kill him. I almost did.
"Lia," he breathed my name as he saw me, oh so slowly stepping to my bed. He kept a safe distance once he reached it.
"Johnny is dead," was all I could say, looking up at the ceiling. I heard my father exhale in a staggered way.
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"He is buried in our garden," he spoke.
There was a brief silence before I spoke up again.
"Why didn't you get me back? You or grandmother?" I asked, clenching my eyes shut. It was hard to focus on one thing as memories came flooding back to me each second. Right now I had to focus on him.
"I-..at first I was so occupied with grief..with grief and guilt that I couldn't think straight. Then your grandmother...she pushed to have you back but I said you probably didn't want to...you didn't seem like you did-...she didn't care but she-...her health declined.."
My breath got stuck in my throat and I moved against the shackles.
"Is she dead?" I asked, my voice small.
"The news about Johnny..about you..hit her hard. She isn't dead but she's barely alive. I doubt she'd recognize you or anyone for that matter. The medics say it's...it's only a matter of time,"
I kept my mouth shut. The tears rolling over my cheeks spoke for themselves.
"I am so sorry, honey," my father finally said.
"This is all my fault," he spoke and I scoffed.
"How so?" I asked, feeling it hard to breath with the lump forming in my throat. It felt as if my tears were choking me.
