This is my entry for Almost like a novel - multi-chapter-story-challenge, and is a revised version of the previous first chapter.
October 21st. Fifty Days To Go.
She stared hard at the headstone standing proud and alone in the dirt, not even flinching as the rain poured down from above, soaking through her clothes and dripping from her skin. The names carved into the cold granite repeated over and over in her mind in an unending loop.
"Dom… you shouldn't be out here." Her younger brother spoke up from somewhere behind her: she hadn't even heard him approaching. The names drowned everything out.
"What, afraid I'll catch my death? I won that chase already remember." Her voice is bitter and barely heard over the downpour.
He reached out to touch her; she flinched away from him. She didn't need his pity. Her stick-thin arms wrapped around her shivering body in an effort to stop the rest of her body heat escaping.
"Dom, please. Come back inside."
"Go away, Louis. I'll come in when I'm ready."
Her gaze remained resolutely on the family gravestone before her.
Fabian Prewett
3rd January 1948 - 25th August 1981
Gideon Prewett
3rd January 1948 - 25th August 1981
Fred Weasley
1st April 1978 - 2nd May 1998
Fabian Prewett, Gideon, Prewett, Fred Weasley, Dominique Weasley, Fabian Prewett, Gideon Prewett, Fred Weasley, Dominique Weasley…
"This isn't healthy!" Louis blurted out behind her.
Spinning round, she yelled, "Nothing about me is healthy anymore!"
Watching the argument from the kitchen window, Victoire felt tears of helplessness well up as Louis traipsed back towards the house, defeated, leaving their sister to mourn her own impending death.
"She needs help," Louis said tiredly as he entered the room, leaving muddy footprints in his wake, "Proper help that we can't give her. I'm sending an owl to St Mungo's."
All of their conversations were like that since Dom's prognosis. Abrupt. Clinical. Bereft of any hope and all focused on one thing: Dominique was going to die. Already her organs were slowly beginning the shut-down process. With each system that was disrupted, Victoire felt her own grip on life slipping as well as she struggled to keep the family together.
What could a Healer do to change any of that? When someone finds out that their time on Earth is limited, every action becomes more meaningful; after all, it may be the last time you ever perform it. Every second spent with family becomes more precious but more agonising as time goes on. Most go through the famous Five Stages, in varying orders for different periods of time. But it all ends the same way. Finality is the truly terrifying yet calming emotion a Human mind can feel. The Weasleys were still, for the most part, in the terrified stage.
~ St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries: Terminal Illness Section ~
Scorpius looked up sharply as the door to his office opened and his assistant poked her head around the door. The look on her face was a familiar one, one that came with the threat of spoiling his carefully laid out plans for the evening. The sight of the file she carried in her perfectly manicured hand confirmed it and he shook his head before she had the chance to speak.
"No."
"You don't even know what-"
"I learnt Legilimency over my fortnight off. Not the most relaxing holiday I've ever had. No." He continued packing his things away, preparing to leave for the weekend.
"You don't know Legilimency-"
Without bothering to look up, he said, bored, "Then I'm a very good guesser, probably a skill I picked up from your terrible filing system and appointment diary. No means no, Mary."
Mary raised her blonde eyebrows and slid the file across the desk towards him. "You're going to want to look at this one."
"Five minutes before I'm about to clock out for the weekend, I highly doubt that," he said with a sigh, picking up the file anyway and flopping down into his chair. Mary watched as the blond Healer scanned the page, his brow furrowing. Eventually he pushed the file aside and got to his feet.
"Send a return owl, I'll be there first thing in the morning. And send my apologies to my parents; I won't be joining them in Paris after all."
Mary nodded and left, leaving Scorpius to his thoughts. Chewing on his lip, he scratched his chin, feeling the sharp stubble under his fingers. She hated it when you didn't shave, a voice in the back of his mind whispered and he shivered. There was no time for such thoughts… there was no time for anything non-essential anymore.