The house is dark today; there is no bacon crackling on the stove and no movements on the porch. There is no air in the sitting room and the radio on the mantelpiece is silent. And Juliet died yesterday.
I jump slightly as Mum's sobs break the silence. I sigh, turning back to the window as light drops of rain splash down onto the pavement. The sun is coming out over the horizon now but it doesn't feel like the day is just beginning. It's almost as if the day before hasn't ended, even though it has lasted forever. I'm not moving towards the kitchen like I normally do. Funny…I haven't eaten in seventeen hours but I'm not hungry. I feel empty and horribly numb. Even more numb than when I fell out of a tree and broke my arm. I shiver as a gust of cold wind blows through one of the half-open windows. I hear a door slam upstairs and then footsteps on the stairs.
"Why aren't you dressed yet?" Aunt Delia sounds drained and so tired. One glance in her usually laughing eyes and I can see that she's aged ten years in a few of the shortest hours I have ever known.
I shrug my response, unable to find the strength to answer in words. I'm suddenly aware of my childish pajamas; the stupid maroon flannel with the printed cows all over it doesn't seem remotely amusing now. "Don't feel like going to school today," I finally answer, not looking at her.
I hear her sigh and have to force myself not to scream. What has she got to sigh about? She hasn't lost what I have. She doesn't feel what I do. "Want anything to eat?"
I shrug again. What doesn't she understand? "Not hungry."
And with a startling feeling, I realize that I'm not. A part of me is missing. I can feel the empty part squeezing my heart tighter and tighter, and I'm drowning in my own feelings.
My aunt stands still for a few minutes and I can feel her eyes on me. I don't want to turn around and I don't want to see the pity etched on her face. "Do you need anything?"
I don't feel the need to reply to this brainless statement. Of course I need something. I need my sister. I need to see her. I need to get this terrible feeling behind my eyes to leave me alone. 'She's gone,' I remind myself. 'Stop thinking about her.'
But I can't. Was it really only yesterday that we sat in this same room? Fought over this same seat? Slept in this same house? And without asking, I know that the answer is yes. Yes, it was only yesterday that we sat in this room. Yes, it was only yesterday that we fought over this chair and I promise, Juliet, I promise, if I'd known you wouldn't be here today, I'd have let you have it. Yes, it was only yesterday that we slept in this house, lived, breathed and smiled in this house. And now you're gone.
Dimly, I hear the house creak, as if feeling my pain. But then it settles and all is quiet again.
"Are you all right?" Aunt Delia is still standing behind me. I can see her reflection in the cold glass. She's wringing her hands and shuffling her feet nervously. I lean my head against the window pane, closing my eyes.
I can't tell her that I'm not all right – that I'll never be all right. I can't tell her because it would shatter her heart into even smaller pieces and I would never, ever do that to her. After all…she's the only sister I have left now, even though she isn't my sister at all.
I open my eyes and to my horror, I see that she's crying. I watch in fascination as tears streak down her cheeks, cascading to the floor. I won't cry. I won't let those stains mar my face. Won't cry…not the way Mum does. I can still hear her sobs in the back of my mind and I hate it. She's not supposed to fall apart. She's not supposed to show her weaknesses to me. She's not supposed to cry.
"Sweetheart?" Her voice quivers with emotion and I hate it. I want to hear her normal voice. I just want everything to be normal.
I clench my teeth and will her to leave me alone. I don't want to hear her voice anymore. Nothing she can say will ever make this feeling disappear.
I draw my knees up to my chin and glare out the window. Rain. 'Juliet likes to play in the rain,' I think idly, before biting my tongue hard. Juliet isn't here. I listen as hard as I can, praying that Mum's crying has stopped. I can hear myself breathing – horrible, ragged sobs, for I am crying as well.
I brush the tears away angrily. Tears don't help those who suffer. Just like death doesn't hurt those who die – only those who get left behind.
For one glorious moment, I can hear the birds chirping outside as the rain stops.
The house falls silent once more as Aunt Delia shuffles back to her room and closes the door with a click.
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I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking when I wrote this; I do strongly suspect that it was based on Hermione when she was a very young child. I know quite well that she doesn't have a sister that is mentioned in the books and that if she had had one, she would most likely have told her two best friends. I wouldn't go as far as to say that this is in an 'alternate universe' but it isn't following the books (as I'm quite sure you've guessed). In any case, I don't own whoever you think I don't own.
This story is for Boojie, for her honesty, criticism, laughter and understanding. God knows where I would be without you.