Words of the Wise

A Sceptic's Negative

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SUNDOGS

I feel like I've grown up a bit. I'm a bit more confident, and I've been reading more, and I've had a little more time to myself. I went on this writing trip to gather my thoughts about where and who I am in this world, and why we're all here.

-Imogen Heap

"It's your birthday, honey," the older woman took the initiative tentatively. She had a wrapped bulk in her hands.

"It is. Did you bring me more books?" Hermione eyed the distinctly shapely object, which resembled more a lump than a book in all truthfulness.

Any observer would identify them both as mother and daughter. Save for the haggard look the little girl sported and the smart clothes the older woman wore, both of them possessed the same untameable hair and skin complexion. Their eye colours were significantly different, the little girl's a shade of cinnamon that was unmatched by the other woman's dull brown, but other than that they resembled each other in ways only blood could.

For a moment, they both stared at each other. Awkwardness hung thick in the air and they both knew it. This was a monthly ritual neither of them looked forward to, but it was to be repeated over and over like a broken record.

Her mother's smile was just the tiniest bit forced, but Hermione caught the strain in her expression with ease. Her young face, as always, was irresponsive in the presence of pity.

"I'm afraid I couldn't bring you any, honey. The doctors keep telling me that you're always reading by yourself, so they suggested something else for your birthday. Like a rag doll or a teddy bear- which is always good, for a change," she said.

Slowly, the older woman teared up the decorative paper and offered her a plain black bear with beady green eyes to match.

"Oh," Hermione muttered, taking the thing with her dainty hands. She stared at it with glazed eyes for a moment too long, causing a spike of fear from her mother.

"So!" the older woman spoke in a hurried hush, "How was your day? Did your father come by earlier today? He told me he'd visit you as well. Maybe leave you another present…" she hinted at not so subtly, with hope shining in her eyes.

"He didn't, Mom," Hermione dutifully reported, not bothering with the delusions of a fully functional family. She couldn't bring herself to care about the other's disillusioned visage, even if it was more for her sake than anything else. "It's been a long time since I last saw him… I don't really know when was the last time he came here. And to be honest, even if he did come to see me, we wouldn't know what to talk about. He's not being too thoughtful with me, but at least that spares me the awkwardness…" She shook her head. Her mother looked too shocked at her confession to intervene and offer false reassurances. "Time is a funny thing in here... It's not every day that I turn thirteen…" The last part was more for herself than anything else. Regardless, her mother caught wind of it, if the slight downturn of her lips was indication of anything.

"The letter?" Hermione almost didn't catch the murmur.

"Hogwarts," she affirmed with a firm nod. Her present was already forgotten, discarded neatly by the side of her little hands on the table.

"I see…" Her mother looked none too cheerful about breaching this particular topic with her. "So you're a witch now, honey?"

"I always was. This should have been my second year."

Her mom grimaced, "Yes, yes- well, you were always kind of special…"

"Mom…"

"Your imagination does tend to go overboard sometimes, sweetie. A school where they teach you how to use magic… You can't deny that's a little-"

"Mom," Hermione sighed wearily, "Harry's gone back to that place."

A long intake of breath.

"Harry, dear?" the woman asked. That dreaded name. Not hidden enough behind those wavering words was the sceptic at heart that her mother always was.

"Yes!" the eleven-year-old snapped. "Do not think that I don't resent your attitude- as you still refuse to see him as little more than a mere hallucination of mine!"

Her mother physically recoiled. "Where did you learn that word, sweetie?" she asked.

Hermione sighed, "I hear the doctors talking all the time, Mom. Sooner or later, I was going to pick up on their terms or catch on the reason why I'm always kept behind closed doors. It's so frustrating here! Everyone appears to think I'll blow a gasket for one reason or another… But my mind is perfectly fine, I'll have you know!"

Bibliomania was an adept diagnosis of her behaviour, with her notorious obsession over knowledge and whatnot. The smell of new and old books was like a siren's song to her senses even when she had no use for plain childish stories. Schizophrenia? Not so much. Hermione rather doubted her unsociable behaviour was enough of a reason for her a semi-permanent stay in the children's ward, so this speculated schizophrenia of hers was what kept her there.

"Hermione," her mother choked, "you're sick, do you understand?"

"Not really, but," Hermione turned her head away from her, "I've given up on trying to make you understand."

As she spoke, she urged her birthday present to float and it responded just as pliably as everything else she came into contact with. It rose and hovered inches away from her mother's face. Hermione's will made the small bear move one of its fingerless limbs and brush it across the tip of her nose.

Her mother didn't start or give her any sign that would indicate she was aware of the mystical feat in full display in front of her. She merely scratched her itchy nose with a sorrowful sigh.

"Hermione…"

The older woman reached to grab a hold of her daughter's hands. Hermione let her reluctantly, appreciating the contact even if it came from the one person who unknowingly continued to be the source of her anguish with her constant denial. Her touch was personal, unlike the nurses', and that made it special.

"I hate it here," Hermione trembled.

Heedless to their joint frustration and fears, her animated teddy bear started gliding in circles above their heads, seemingly engaging in a jubilant dance with the air.

"Hermione, sweetie… I'm not giving up on you. Never, you hear me? Look at me, sweetie," she turned her head gingerly. "You are very dear to me, flaws and everything. Your mind… is not an issue. You're my little girl, always. It doesn't matter if you see things no else can see or if this Harry person is always with you and whispering things into your ears. I love you and you'd do me a great favour if you always keep that in mind."

Gazing into those eyes, Hermione bit her lip and nodded. She didn't have the heart to tell her that she had forgotten her name, that she didn't know how her biological father looked like and much less remember how happy they had been when they only played along with her 'delusions'. Little things like that slipped her mind more often than not, as they were inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

As depressing as this was, she knew how this story ended. Her mother was already round around the waist. Whether or not she had remarried or she was seeing someone in secret didn't matter; she had another life underway and she would probably settle with another family soon. It was painfully obvious that her parents weren't happy together and they certainly weren't proud of the role she played in their lives. Just like what happened with her biological father, eventually her mother would favour whoever came next into her life and she would be left behind.

That didn't mean that it didn't hurt.

"Honey?"

"I love you too, Mom," she breathed softly.

Her mother beamed, the corner of her eyes wrinkling as she smiled.

"Well, now you'll have to excuse me. I suddenly have the urge to go to the bathroom; it'll be just for a moment, sweetie," she said, taking her cue to stand up, carefully avoiding bumping her girth with the objects around her. "I swear I didn't take so many breaks when I was pregnant with you. This is quickly getting out of hand... I'll be back in a moment, yes?"

"Sure." In the meanwhile, she'd lose herself in her thoughts like she always did.

But her mother didn't come back, or if she did, Hermione didn't notice her.