Merely Misunderstood

Chapter Twenty-Two

I didn't remember much from after Dumbledore said those words. It all sort of went fuzzy from there.

I recalled Dumbledore telling me that I was being sent home for as long as I needed, and then I was sent to pack my things. But everything was happening so fast, I hardly realized what was going on while it happened.

I had a very clear memory of Draco and Mirah trying to talk to me, and I had burst into tears in front of them as I told them what had happened, and I swore Draco had wrapped me up in his arms so tightly that it was almost as if he felt my pain too, but I was convinced it could have been a dream — time seemed to be working differently in my shock.

I didn't allow myself any time to process what had happened; I couldn't. I refused. There was no way Mum was ill... she was too healthy, too talented a witch....

It just seemed stupid.

It was a stupid prank, I was sure of it. She would be there when I got back home, perfectly fine and disease-free. I just knew she would.

But when I stepped through the threshold into my house, it was dark. The hallways were shadowed and dismal, and the entire house had a heavy, horrible, sickening energy.

I realized, with a gruesome shock, that my mother wasn't there to greet me, and it occurred to me just how grim the situation was.

That's when the panic really started to set in.

The first time we visited Mum, it felt like a nightmare. Like a horrible, lucid fever dream. I'll never forget the moment I laid my eyes on my mother, laying still upon a cot, hardly breathing.

Dad was in ruins. Whenever St. Mungo's kicked us out for the night, he would sit in his chair, and he wouldn't move; he would just sit there, silently, staring at the wall with a dazed look about him, as if his soul had been sucked out.

It was horrible, more horrible than the days when he used to pretend as though I didn't exist. This was worse than anything I'd ever experienced in a person. It was inhuman.

I felt like I needed to help him, but I was at a loss — what could I do?

I cooked for him, I cleaned the house until it was spotless... I even baked his favorite dessert.

But none of it made any difference. No matter how hard I tried, Dad just wouldn't snap out of it, and it terrified me.

For the first time in my life, I felt completely helpless.

The days passed, and Mum's condition deteriorated.

The healers had tried to explain to me what was wrong with my mother, but I never understood; I hardly listened — I refused to believe something so horrible could have infested Mum's body.

Dad and I sat beside her bed all day, every day, waiting — waiting for her to stir, waiting for her eyes to flutter open. Waiting for the healers to tell us that she was recovering. Just waiting.

But we waited for weeks, and nothing changed. I suppose that wasn't good, but it wasn't bad, either. It meant that even though she wasn't getting better, she wasn't getting worse, and that was enough for me.

Today, I stared at Mum's pale, gaunt face as she slept endlessly, never moving, never making a sound.

It was so strange seeing her like this — she was never one for stillness. She preferred to be busying herself with something, anything, as long as it meant she didn't have to sit around and do nothing. I smiled as I thought about the fight she would put up if she was awake. She'd want out of here, no matter how sickly she was.

A few times, I questioned why I was so worried about her. Both of my parents treated me like a servant rather than a daughter. They took care of me, yes, but there was never much love there. And if there was, I didn't notice it.

But even though my parents never exerted any type of love for me, I found that I couldn't help but love them — they were my family, of course, and they were the only ones I had. I never had any siblings; it was always just Mum, Dad, and me. And if that were to suddenly change, if it were to become just Dad and me, I didn't know if I could handle it.

So we continued to visit Mum at St. Mungo's daily, still waiting, still hoping.

Gradually, life seemed to lose its purpose; there was no light, no excitement, no happiness or hope... there was only fear for the future. And it never seemed to change.

Author's note: I know this part is so short, but it's partially for dramatic effect ;)

Also, I wanted to let you know that I might not be posting every day anymore. I've got my actual novel to work on alongside this, and then there's school, and an overall lack of ideas... it's all a bit stressful, so I might just post every other day, idk. I guess we'll see.

But thank you so much for reading, and if you've made it this far, I love you so much like I'm dead serious-