The pristine white walls of St Mungo's in 2011 were no different to the current ones of 2023 and hard-pressed Healers were running round in a similar fashion. I spotted the 5-year-old Rose Weasley and the corners of my mouth lifted. She had her head buried in a child's book in front of a 3-year-old Hugo, who was aimlessly following his older sibling and running alongside her, whilst a less-wrinkled Mum chastised her for not looking where she was going and Hugo for running. Dad of the past swooped my younger self into his arms making her laugh openly and Hugo jumped next to him, wanting a go as well. He let her down and picked up Hugo, as they gradually made their way to Room 201.
This must have been the hundreth time I had viewed the memory, yet elements always surprised me. Inside awaited a young Healer, around his 30s, who had a friendly smile but solemn eyes- Healer Cowley. Mum- always observant- frowned at his expression. "What did you find out?" queried Hermione nervously, biting her lip. On the hesitancy of the Healer, I noticed that Dad's expression began to falter from the laughter it had been showing a few moments previously. The young Rose expressed her curiosity by leaning forward and waiting expectantly for the Healer's answer. It was only little Hugo who remained oblivious to the tension in the room.
"I'm afraid it isn't good news. Normally, wizards have immunity to many Muggle diseases, including Huntington's which is why you, Ms. Granger, are free from the disease. The proteins in Rose's body, produced due to a mutation not uncommon in the magical community, have interacted with the Huntington's gene in her DNA. This interaction has caused the activation of a magical version of the gene, leading to a disease incredibly rare that I believe, on extensive research, only a few wizards in Britain have suffered from in the past century." The Healer paused, giving us time to take in the information. I watched as Mum gulped and gripped the young Rose's shoulder tightly. Dad's expression was more difficult to read; he had paled and his eyes looked vacant, almost like his body was in the room but he himself was not. "This explains the night seizures and mood swings, as well as the extreme magic she has been showing," continued the Healer. "The interaction is likely to cause her magical power to be much stronger yet more uncontrolled-"
"I'm not uncontrolled," interrupted the little Rose, offended. "I'm very well behaved."
The Healer let out a light chuckle. "I am well aware of your good behaviour and intelligence, Miss. Weasley," he replied, the response seeming to satisfy the young girl. "But you will have to be careful to keep yourself under control. This interaction seems to make the symptoms of Huntington's disease more severe- the reason why it is showing so young- and a big issue in Huntington's is loss of control, of the mind and body," he finished grimly.
"Well, that's okay. Mummy's always taught me about keeping calm when I had those mood swings and they got better- well, better than before. I like being in control of things and myself," responded Rose, confidently. I noticed Mum smile at her proudly, whilst Dad still seemed distant. Hugo was playing with his stuffed kneazle- the language must have been too difficult for him to know what was going on. Nonetheless, he shot concerned glances at his sister every so often.
"That's brilliant, Rose. Now would you mind being incredibly responsible and taking Hugo outside for a minute? I need to sort out some boring things with your parents, but you both can wait on the seats outside. I think I left Babbity Rabbit out there so you can read that until Mum and Dad come out," suggested the Healer. Rose jumped up at the chance of reading her favourite book and pulled Hugo along with her, leaving the room. I was pushed out of the room myself, confined to my own memories but Dad had told me when I was older that he had just given them more information about the symptoms and potential medicines to help with the symptoms. I watched as the me of the past read her book, Hugo's small body curled up against her as he fiddled with the ears of his toy.
I was snapped out of my reverie when a voice yelled out from above the roof of the waiting area. It reminded me a little of a God's voice coming out of the skies, but if it was from some form of a God, they weren't very eloquent. "Oi, Rose, you in there? Dinner's on the table and I ain't gonna wait for you, my stomach's growling like a bloody Welsh dragon!" I rolled my eyes at my brother's threat. Not that I cared if he ate without me, but Hugo wouldn't. A Hufflepuff through and through, he was indescribably loyal to those he was close to, including myself, and wouldn't want me to have to eat alone. I was pulled out of the pensieve as the memory reached its end and landed roughly on the floor of our house. Hugo heaved me up onto his back with no warning and began running to the dining room. "Hugo, let me down!" I screamed, well aware that I sounded not too different to a Banshee.
"Make me," smirked Hugo, as he jumped and ducked to avoid the various objects scattered around our house. He accidentally stepped on the end of our ancient cat, Crookshanks' tail, making her let out a low-pitched growl as she curled her tail in. "Sorry Crooky," he apologised as he continued running, me clinging onto his neck for dear life. The audacity of him! The cat gets an apology, but I don't.
It was like he had read my mind as he commented, "Yes, I do prefer the cat to you." I would have slapped him across the head but that would have involved my letting go of his neck and the most probable outcome of that would be an untimely death.
"My lifespan is already a third of the average life, are you trying to kill me even sooner?" I yelled, tightening my arms around him as he bounded down the corridor. I appreciated having Hugo to joke around with about my illness occasionally. Mum would have broken down if I had said that to her, but Hugo knew better. It wasn't that he cared less but making open jokes about it was almost like proving that we weren't frightened of it.
"Nah, come off it Rose, I'm not going to kill you… But I might get you close enough you see the shining light," laughed Hugo, as my head just missed the chandelier. I was about to open my mouth to shout at him once more, but Mum got there first.
"HUGO WEASLEY! Put your sister down this instant," she ordered and I smirked triumphantly as Hugo let me down. The boy didn't seem to care all that much though as the smell of Roast Dinner wafted into his nose and he eagerly sat down beside Mum at the table. I took the chair next to Dad, who let out a chuckle at our antics. I wasn't sure what it was, but I loved Dad's laugh. His eyes brightened and he looked ten years younger; it was guaranteed to brighten my own mood and quite often was incredibly contagious.
"Dad, this looks brilliant," I remarked, staring at the feast laid out before me in awe. Mum was a hopeless cook, but Dad was fantastic and on the last Sunday before school began he always cooked a full roast dinner. The desserts were undoubtedly my favourite though and my mouth watered on sight of them at the end of the table. "I bet that apple and almond pudding is impeccable."
"Only to match your impeccable character," he justified and I grinned at the compliment. He ruffled my hair and then on Hugo's impatient glares, we began to eat. The chicken was roasted to perfection, the potatoes was delightfully soft once you broke through the crispy exterior and the vegetables complimented the set. "So, any particular reason you were down in the pensieve today?" Dad knew the only time I ever went there was to view the memory of my diagnosis and this was his attempt to be subtle at asking me if I was okay.
"Oh, no particular reason, just thought I'd make the most of having the pensieve here before I left for school. I don't feel very comfortable using the Headmistress' regardless if she lets me," I answered, honestly. There was rarely a time I wasn't honest with them if I thought back, perhaps only about how much I was struggling. Sometimes it was better to give them a more positive outlook as to what was going on in my mind.
"Uncle Harry offered to take you tomorrow, but I declined," informed Mum. "After all, it is your last year." I smiled gratefully at her. It wasn't that I didn't get along with Uncle Harry, he was always kind and had a surprisingly sarcastic sense of humour. However, just like every other member of my extended family, he was unaware of my illness and naturally, that made me less comfortable around him. Why hadn't I told anyone? I'm not too sure. Primarily because I didn't want to be viewed as the 'ill' one at every family gathering held, but also because telling such a large family could easily lead to it leaking to the masses- a thought I dreaded. I was content with a roast potato on my fork, until my hand began to tremor and a clanging sound was made as my fork fell to my plate. My family didn't bat an eyelid, used to events such as this occurring, but I had to take a deep breath in.
You have control Rose, I thought to myself. Just force it to stop, it's your hand, you have the power to control it. I glared at my hand, as it continued to tremble, and my frustration was building. I was sick of my inability to do menial tasks- I had grown sick of it years ago. My annoyance had faded since the initial years of the tremors, but it was still present. I inhaled deeply, the oxygen flooding in me and calming me, albeit doing nothing for my tremors. I noticed Hugo leaning forward, prepared to help me if I required, but I shook my head in his direction. I refused to have help to do something as simple as eating food and he knew that well. At school, it would have been more difficult to handle a situation like this. It often ended with me not eating in the Great Hall, instead sneaking some food into a napkin or going on a trip to the kitchen when the tremors calmed down. But, I wasn't at school. I was at home, with my family, who unconditionally loved me. So I proceeded to do what any sensible human would do to eat food if their hands stopped functioning. I bent forward till my face was less than an inch from the gravy covered potatoes and grabbed one with my mouth, taking it in my mouth in one bite. I could feel the gravy dripping down my chin and had to let out a snort at my state. This led to Hugo sniggering into his chicken, Dad chuckling and soon, even Mum was openly laughing.
I'd miss this.