Stars
Grace wants a broomstick like James; she wants an owl like James; but, most of all, she wants to go to Hogwarts like James.
By the age of ten, Grace Potter was sure she was St. Mungo's most frequent visitor. She was sure she was the most frequent visitor of hospitals in the world, seeing as her parents had dragged her off to France, Romania, India, and countless other places in the hopes of finding some Healer who might know the cure to Hywell's disease. Grace had been to Healers who specialized in blood curses, shamans who spent their entire lives tapping into magical energies, and—once—a shifty-eyed woman she highly suspected was an ex-Unspeakable who had studied brains.
But there was no cure, at least none that had been discovered yet. It was as Grace's primary Healer, Aisha Kane, had said all those years ago: the only medicine was time. This didn't exactly stop Grace's parents from taking up every Healer on their suggestions and recommendations about how to lessen Grace's pain—even if said suggestions or recommendations were complete bollocks. Like that Romanian Healer—some or the other Dragomir—who had told Grace's parents that prolonged exposure to items heavily imbued with magic might exacerbate Grace's paroxysm. Such items included pensieves, sentient objects, and, of course, broomsticks.
Grace sulked in the shade of a hornbeam tree as she watched her older brother whizz about the backyard on a Cleansweep. He had gotten it for his eleventh birthday back in March, and had been riding it pretty much every day since. In the beginning, James had let Grace tag along on training broomsticks (whose magic was weak and less likely to trigger a paroxysm), but the pace of training broomsticks was slow and they only floated one and a half feet off the ground at most. So, eventually, James began flying without Grace, racing to the shed to grab the Cleansweep when he thought Grace was still sleeping or busy reading, so that he didn't have to tell her he'd rather not wait around for her anymore.
It didn't really matter, though. He might as well have screamed to her face that she was a drag.
She glowered at James over the edge of Tales from the Selkies, which had been one of the many books she had received for her own birthday in January. Apparently, books were the only acceptable present for Grace nowadays. Books were harmless, which, in Grace's mind, was just another word for boring. They sat in stacks on the half-bookshelf in Grace's room, slowly collecting dust and cobwebs.
James let out a great cry of joy as he managed a loop-de-loop on his broom, swinging by another tree. The end of his broomstick snagged in one of the tree's scraggly branches, and James's joyous shout turned into one of fear as he fell against the bark of the tree.
He slid down against the tree roughly, thudding against the dirt. The broomstick fell down besides him a half-second later.
"Are you okay?" Grace called out from the other end of the backyard.
James gave her a thumbs up, but when he rose, he winced. He raced over to Grace, his jet black hair windswept and untidier than normal. His tanned skin shone gold in the sunlight, and the corners of Grace's lips dipped. Her skin was like a pale imitation of James's, pallid and peaky. It might have been more like James's—healthy and robust—had Grace spent less days confined in a hospital ward and more out in the sun.
"I think I've got a bruise," James said, and there was no worry in it. James never worried about anything. He didn't have to. "I'm gonna ask Mum for the paste and ask Dotty for a strawberry pastry. Do you want one?"
Grace thought about it. "Can you ask Dotty for pumpkin juice?"
"I don't wanna carry juice for you—"
"Why not?" Grace demanded. "I helped you sneak into Dad's study to get wombat whiskers, and you can't get me some juice?"
"I have to carry it down the stairs, and what if it spills?"
"Then clean it up!"
James made a face. "Then I've got to spend twenty minutes cleaning up a mess that could have been avoided if you just asked me to get you something easy—like a pastry."
"Ugh—fine—I don't want anything." Grace rose her book up higher, so it eclipsed James's face from her sight. "Go away, Jam-jam."
"Don't call me that—"
"Jam-jam," Grace said louder.
"Gummy Grace," James taunted back. "Do you remember that, Grace? When you got gum stuck in your—ow!"
Grace had thrown her book at him, and it collided against his chest.
"I'm telling Mum!" James said immediately. "You've probably made my bruise worse."
Grace's eyes rose in alarm. "No, wait—James, I'm sorry—" James scoffed, and any semblance of sorry Grace felt vanished instantly. She scowled at him. "If you tell Mum, I'll tell Dad what you did with the wombat whiskers."
James's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't. You'd get in trouble, too."
"Try me."
They stared at each other for a moment, stuck in a tense silence. Finally, James relented.
"Fine," James said, turning away. "Prat."
"Git."
Grace rose to get her book as James bounded towards the Potter cottage and disappeared through the backdoor. As Grace turned back to her seat at the base of the hornbeam tree, she caught sight of James's unattended Cleansweep. It was a rare moment when James and the Cleansweep weren't together, and even rarer when James wasn't there and the Cleansweep wasn't in the shed.
Grace chewed her tongue, and took a step forward. Surely just five minutes on James's broom would be fine? She'd just zip around the backyard once—just once—and put it back before James came back. No one would know.
A smile grew on Grace's lips. Sod that Romanian Healer, she thought happily, letting her book fall to the ground as she raced to the broom.
"Up," she commanded, and her hazel eyes gleamed when the Cleansweep flew into her outstretched palm.
Grace put one leg over the broom and gripped the front of the broomstick with both hands. She faced towards the house, and kicked against the ground fiercely. She rose a few feet off the ground, which was nothing new to Grace. It was roughly the same height training broomsticks hovered at. What was new, however, was the pure exhilaration that filled Grace when she leaned forward.
The Cleansweep bolted forward, and Grace laughed in delight. Her wild, wavy dark hair was tousled by the wind, and Grace relished the feeling. As she neared the cottage, she swerved to the left, pulling up on the broom sharply and whizzing by the hornbeam tree earlier. She did one lap about the backyard, but quickly decided it wasn't enough. The feeling of weightlessness, the throw of the broom whenever Grace veered too hard, the searing gaze of the unobscured sun on her face—it was addictive. Grace wanted to spend the rest of her life like this: flying and flying and never stopping.
But all good things must come to an end, and the end to Grace's forbidden flying session came in the form of her appalled older brother.
"Grace!" he cried out, equal parts irate and horrified. In his right hand was a single strawberry pastry and in the other was a goblet of iced pumpkin juice. "Grace! If you don't stop now, I'm getting Mum—"
Grace brought the broom down, touching base with the ground. She was still beaming, and her harried hair spilled over her shoulders messily. "Sorry, I just wanted to try it out—"
"You're not allowed to," James said immediately. He thrust the pumpkin juice to Grace and grabbed his broom back. His lips were twisted into a terrible frown, and Grace didn't like it. James was annoying, yes, but he never got angry. "It makes you sick."
Grace's frown matched James's almost exactly. "No, it doesn't! It's just something that Healer said so he could suck all the fun out of my life."
"Well he's a Healer and you're a kid, so I reckon he knows a lot more than you do. I'm going to tell Mum and Dad."
"No!" Grace started. "No, you can't tell them—"
"I'm supposed to tell them when you break rules about your disease—"
"Don't call it a disease—"
"That's what it is!"
"Say 'condition,'" Grace said stubbornly. That was what Healer Kane called it, and Grace vastly preferred 'condition' to 'disease.' 'Condition' sounded like something Grace was in control of, whereas 'disease' sounded, well, ugly. "I've got a condition. And don't tell Mum and Dad! I was barely on the broomstick. Nothing's going to happen."
James stared at Grace for a moment. The frown had long slipped off his face, but his eyes still retained the initial worry. James never had qualms about breaking rules. When it came to staying out of Dad's study and not bothering the elderly Mrs. Bagshot down the road, James had no problem with doing just the opposite. But when it came to Grace—little Grace with her sun-deprived skin and bags under her eyes—James found straying from the rules very difficult.
"Promise not to do it again?"
"Yes," Grace said, not intending anything of the sort. "I promise."
"Then I won't tell Mum or Dad," James decided.
He set his broom down and spit in his right hand. Grace did the same, and they shook on it. Afterwards, each tried to wipe their saliva onto the other and laughed when they both succeeded.
Whenever Grace or James felt particularly affectionate or if they had something to talk about, they spent the night together. James usually slept over in Grace's room whenever Grace came back from a long stay at St. Mungo's. Tired and aching, Grace would collapse onto her bed as soon as her parents brought her home. Late into the evening, the door would creak open, and James would creep inside with his largest, poofiest blanket and a thick pillow.
But tonight was no such night. She heard the door open and saw, from the faint sliver of light that came through the crack, James's blanket dragging against the floor.
"What is it?" Grace asked curiously, shifting over on her rather large bed. It had been a very long time since James had a nightmare, and even then he usually went to Mum and Dad's room instead of Grace's.
James clambered onto Grace's bed. "I'm just really excited!"
Grace snuggled deeper into her own quilt. "About shopping at Diagon Alley?"
"Yes! I can't wait to get fitted for robes—do you think they'll stitch on the Gryffindor crest for me if I ask?"
"You haven't been Sorted yet, so probably not."
"But I know I'm going to be in Gryffindor."
"What if you're in Hufflepuff instead?"
James scoffed. "I'm too colorful for Hufflepuff."
'Colorful' was a word their Mum often used to describe James. Grace wondered how long it would take James to realize that it wasn't exactly a compliment.
"What about Ravenclaw?"
"Too colorful," he repeated.
"Slytherin?"
"I'll quit Hogwarts if I'm placed in Slytherin."
"No, you won't. You love it too much. Hogwarts is all you've been talking about since you got your letter."
"I promise you I'll quit if I'm Sorted into Slytherin." James spat into his hand and practically shoved it into Grace's face.
Grace batted his hand away. "I'm not making a promise with you about that. Wipe your hand on your blanket."
He wiped it on Grace's instead. Grace kicked him. He kicked her back, and then immediately apologized and asked that she not tell Mum.
"What wand do you think you're going to get?" Grace asked after a moment.
"I dunno—but I hope it's got dragon in it."
"Dad told me about a rhyme that says people with rowan wands gossip a lot, so that'll probably be your wand wood."
"I don't gossip—"
"You're always chatting about other people."
"Because I'm observant. Because I'm interested in the world," James protested. "Besides, who cares what wand wood I get? It's all a bunch of nonsense. I'm most excited about getting an owl—"
"Wait, Mum and Dad said you get to have an owl?"
"Yeah! They said it'll be okay since it'll be with me at Hogwarts and not here. And, when I'm home for the summer, I can keep it with Hester in Dad's study so it won't bother you. I told Mum I wanted a golden owl, but she said she doesn't think Eeylops has those, so maybe I'll get a silvery one instead."
"But how come they're letting you get an owl?" Grace stared up at her ceiling, a frown stitched tightly into her face.
The Potter family had a strict no pets policy—save for Hester, who was kept in a special area in Dad's study—because one of the many Healers Grace had been to said magical animals, like owls and kneazles, would disrupt the magical energy Grace's body was trying to channel and worsen her condition. It was all theory and hypothesis, but Grace's parents did not want to take any chances. They had even wanted to get rid of Hester, but the owl was old and had been a part of the family for so long that they couldn't go through with it. Instead, they forbid Grace from entering her father's study.
But now James was getting an owl, and Grace didn't see how that was fair at all. He could just borrow one of the school owls when he was at Hogwarts. Or send letters using Hester.
"Because I got into Hogwarts," James said. "It's my present."
"That's dumb," Grace said immediately. "You didn't even do anything. Anyone with even a drop of magical blood can get into Hogwarts."
"It's my present," James said again, and Grace didn't miss the sour tone.
"It's not fair."
"Mum and Dad will get you something when you get into Hogwarts."
"Yeah, but it won't be an owl."
Grace's throat was beginning to close in. She didn't want to talk about Mum or Dad or owls anymore. She wanted James to leave her room so she could go to sleep, but she didn't want to upset James any further. Grace turned to the other side of her bed, her back facing James, and shut her eyes tight.
"They'll get you something better than an owl," James said, but nothing in his voice made it sound like he believed there was anything better than an owl. "I'll let you name my owl, if it makes you feel better."
"I'm sleepy, James. Goodnight."
"Okay…. Night." James shifted around as well.
He knew she was lying, because Grace had trouble sleeping at night. Grace spent so much time unconscious after suffering through a paroxysm that the thought of voluntary going unconscious for a night terrified her. So, she often lay awake in her bed, staring up at her ceiling, which had been enchanted to mimic the shift of stars across the night sky. But Grace didn't want to face the ceiling, because then she would be able to see James's form in her periphery.
Instead, Grace kept herself turned on her side, eyes steadfastly closed. She thought about what it might be like to receive her own brand new broom, what the inside of Eeylops looked like, and what she might name her own owl if she ever got the chance to own one. And, soon, the tightness in her throat eased away and Grace fell asleep.
When Grace awoke the next morning, it was because she felt like something was drilling into her temples. It was like someone had decided something very precious was inside Grace's head and was slowly but steadily trying to get it out by scraping away at her skull. Grace grit her teeth and swung out of bed, glancing to her left.
James's blanket and pillow had been left behind in a heap. He must have woken up early and gotten too excited about Hogwarts shopping to stay in bed. Grace rubbed at her temples as she walked to the bathroom to brush her teeth and freshen up. She knew this was a tell-tale sign that her paroxysm was acting up, but she hoped she might be able to keep it under control long enough so that nothing happened until after they came back from Diagon Alley. She might have been a bit jealous of James, but that didn't mean she didn't want to see him choose his wand and fuss over robes.
After she changed into a forest green robe, she headed downstairs, and found James in the living area. He was breathing heavily, and there was a smudge of dirt across his cheek. Clearly, he had just come in from a flying session. Dad was sitting in the comforter, and his large, dark brown eyes were gleaming behind the wire spectacles that were seated precariously at the tip of his nose.
"Marvelous, James!" Dad announced. "You're a natural! I'm so very proud of you. You know what? You ought to own your own Quidditch league, James!"
Grace went near her Dad and leaned against the side of the comforter. She raised her brow at James.
"Er—" James began.
"Which team is doing well?" Dad asked. "Which one is your favorite?"
"Well, I like Puddlemere an awful lot, but—"
"We should buy Puddlemere! Oh, I can see it now: Gryffindor colors—crimson and gold—for the jerseys. You know Falmouth has such grand, open fields. We can set up a training pitch there. We can give a free bottle of Sleekeazy's with the purchase of every ticket to gain traction—"
"Dad—"
"Oh, you're right!" Dad huffed, slumping back into the seat. His white, wild hair clashed terribly with the charcoal of the fabric. "We'll be out of Sleekeazy's before we're out of tickets. Dear Merlin—what was I thinking? Sleekeazy's will be bankrupt before we know it! We'll have to forfeit Piddlemore, cut our losses. Oh, and with the low morale, the team is bound to lose a couple of games. Who can blame the poor chaps? But that will only decrease their selling value—"
"Dad!" James cut in. "Dad, I don't want to buy a Quidditch team."
Dad blinked owlishly at James. "That's precisely what I'm saying, James. You've got a good head on your shoulders. Honestly—it's too much trouble—"
"You don't even own Sleekeazy's anymore, Dad," Grace pointed out.
"Yes, and what a good decision I made selling the company." Dad relaxed into couch. "We would be bankrupt now if I hadn't. Thank you for pointing that out, Grace. You've got a keen eye for business." Dad suddenly started forward. "Galloping gargoyles—I should have passed on Sleekeazy's to you!"
"Er—" Grace gave James a long side glance.
"I'm staying out of this one," James muttered, backing out of the room and into the dining area.
"I bet you would have come up with another bestseller," Dad nodded. "Oh, but how could I have looked after the company while you got old enough to inherit it? I would have had to sacrifice time with you and James! I'd be too busy toddling around with new potions and dealers. I wouldn't have even had time to see James flying, and then how could I have bought him his Poddlemare team?"
"It's okay, Dad," Grace said in the most soothing voice she could muster. It came out more strained than anything. The pounding in her head grew more insistent. "I didn't want Sleekeazy's anyway. Don't worry about it."
"Yes, yes, right you are. You've got the same head for business as I do. I thought the same, Gracie. I thought the same." He smiled down tenderly at her and smoothed back her unruly dark hair. "Excited for today?"
"You mean excited to watch James fawn over broomsticks and cauldrons for four hours?"
"I'll buy you something, too, Grace," he promised. "Although we'll save the school supplies for when you're actually off to Hogwarts." He brightened. "Shall we stop by Fortescue's before we begin our shopping? If you've got a delicious sundae to keep you company, it won't be so boring watching James pick between size 2 and size 2.5 cauldrons."
Grace laughed. "James has to get a size 2 cauldron, Dad. It says so on the list! He'll get in trouble, otherwise."
"You're telling me that our James won't find some way to get his hands on a size 2.5 cauldron so that he can swipe a little extra of every potion he makes in his class to use for pranks?" Dad winked at Grace. "I may be old, but don't think for a second I don't know exactly what either of you are up to."
"Dad, I don't doubt that for a second...but don't you think James is much more likely to get a size 1.5 cauldron so he doesn't use as many ingredients making his potions? That way, when it comes time to make the mass Giggling Potion he's planning to make, he'll have enough excess ingredients?"
Dad stared at Grace for a second before bursting out laughing, and Grace joined him for a bit before wincing at a particularly painful throb that flashed through her head.
"Alright, Gracie?" Dad said. His brows furrowed, and his lips twisted from the lighthearted smile he had previously worn to a concerned frown.
"Yes," Grace said immediately, and slinked away from her father hurriedly.
She joined her brother in the dining area, where he was being scolded by Mum for the mud that he had picked up along the trim of his robes.
"Honestly, James," Mum said, vanishing any trace of dirt from James's clothes with a swish of her wand. "You were only out for twenty minutes."
Grace sat herself by the window, watching as Dotty, the Potters' aged house-elf, busy herself around the kitchen. Dotty was prepping some porridge while simultaneously cleaning up some tea that had spilled across the countertop.
"Mum, Mum—can we stop by Quality Quidditch first?" James asked, sitting across from Grace. His eyes were exactly the same as Grace's, but they were alight with enthusiasm while Grace's were dour.
"Why in Godric's good name would you have to stop by a Quidditch shop?" Mum said. "You know first-years aren't allowed to play Quidditch, and you'll be provided brooms along with everyone else during flying lessons."
"But I already know how to fly. Can't you write Dumbledore and ask him if I could skip flying lessons and try out for the team instead?" James's whining was irritating, and it only made the pounding in Grace's head fiercer.
"I most certainly will not, James. You know, I had a great-uncle who tried a similar sort of thing at the Ministry. He wrote to the Minister asking for a position as Undersecretary, but he had forged his credentials—"
She stared at the poinsettia-patterned tablecloth, trying to drown out James's high voice and Mum's sharp replies. Each throb across her temples felt like lightning was striking her brain. Grace grasped the sides of her chair with both hands, and the grip was so strong, her knuckles were taut.
"Grace?" Mum's voice was warbled. "Darling, are you okay?"
"Yes," Grace bit out, but she wasn't.
It was getting worse, and the world was getting dark. The poinsettias that dotted the tablecloth were getting more and more shadowy, until Grace couldn't see them anymore, until the whole of Grace's vision had gone pitch black. She blinked, but it didn't erase away the darkness. It never did.
"Mum, I think—" Grace began, but never finished.
The convulsions never got easier. It always felt like it was happening for the first time. Grace gasped. Her whole body went rigid as a board, and then it broke in half. Or, at least, it felt like it was breaking in half. It felt like every bone in Grace's body was snapping at once. She felt like her arms were breaking, and her legs, and—somehow—her ribs. She couldn't tell how, couldn't even tell if she was moving very much or at all. Grace was seized so completely by the pain that she lost all coherence of thought.
Stars were bursting in her head, and it wasn't beautiful in the slightest. It was explosive and terrifying, and it was eating her from the inside out. Her mind felt like one very large fabric that was slowly being burned. She saw so many colors, and they were brighter than the sun, sharper than any thorn.
Grace screamed. She always did, although she was never fully aware of it. Grace screamed and screamed, until she did not, until the supernova in her head flared one last time before dying out.
When Grace came to, it only took a moment to realize she was in the Mabyn Gwawr ward at St. Mungo's. Grace shifted in her hospital bed, passing her arm over her eyes to shield herself from the too-bright lights. She sat up in her bed, and rubbed her eyes.
"How do you feel, darling?" Mum's voice floated by her ears.
"Okay," Grace croaked out, although that wasn't entirely true. Her entire body ached, and the back of her voice was terribly dry. "How long's it been?"
"Two days."
Grace slumped against her bedrest. "Did James go shopping yet?"
"Your Dad took him," Mum said softly. She smoothed back Grace's hair, trying to tame the mess. Her hands felt cool against Grace's feverish forehead. "Don't you worry about it."
"Sorry," she mumbled. "I know he was excited."
"It's not your fault in the slightest…although, you oughtn't be playing with James's broomstick. You know that, Grace."
Grace's eyes snapped to her mother's. "He told you?"
"He was worried to death, Grace." Mum's dark green eyes were watery. She brushed her hand across her eyes once before drawing away from Grace. She reached for her wand, and when she waved it in the air, a silvery owl appeared near her feet. "She's awake." The Patronus vanished with the message, and Mum put her wand away. "I'll wait for your father and James to come before I get Healer Kane. I don't want to leave you on your own."
"Okay," Grace said, but it wasn't. She wanted to be on her own.
"Did you feel anything different than all the other times?"
"No. It was the same. Did I do anything different?"
"No, it was the same," she said, and her voice trembled. "Darling, I was reading about Muggle medicine the other day, and the field is far more advanced than ours. They've conducted scientific research about the brain. How would you feel about going to a Muggle Healer? Perhaps they've come up with something for this."
"It's not going to work, Mum." Grace fiddled with the starch sheets before looking up. "It never does."
Mum's eyes were still damp, and there were dark circles underneath. Her silver-streaked hair was harried and tied back in a loose, untidy bun. "But suppose we justtried. One of my second cousins on my father's side went to a Muggle Healer to get an ingrown toenail removed, and they did it quite speedily—"
"I haven't got an ingrown toenail, Mum."
"Well, I know that, darling, but I'm just saying these Muggle Healers seem rather capable —"
"We're here!" James's voice was louder than a foghorn, and several nearby patients and Healers shushed him as he barreled into the ward, Dad hot on his heels.
James was carrying three different bags in his arms, and they were so large that his head just barely peeked over them. He came over and dumped all the bags on one of the chairs near Grace's bedside before proceeding to climb onto the end of Grace's hospital bed.
"James!" Mum scolded, but Grace was already moving to make James space.
"How's my favorite girl in the world doing?" Dad asked, hugging her.
"I'm fine, Dad."
He tousled her hair. "Of course you are. You're stronger than the lot of us."
She cracked a smile. "Sorry I couldn't come shopping."
"That's okay!" James said. He was grinning. "It wasn't that fun, anyway. Dad wouldn't let me go into Quality Quidditch, and he told Madam Malkin to just give me a set of standard robes." He snatched one of the bags off the chair, and pulled out the robes from within. "See! She added more fabric to the bottom, because apparently I'm tall for my age, but there's no crest."
James threw the robe over the bed, and Grace touched the plain black fabric disinterestedly.
Mum pressed a kiss to the side of Grace's forehead before getting up. "Darling, we're going to get Healer Kane, now. James, watch after your sister."
James gave Mum a mock salute, which she returned warmly before taking Dad by the arm. Grace watched them exit the ward quickly, and then turned back to James.
"So, you've just brought your set of robes?" she said dryly.
"I got silver scales," James said, taking another bag. He pulled them out, and Grace tapped at it curiously. "And I got a matching silver cauldron with it."
"I thought you're supposed to get pewter?"
"Dad didn't check. Besides, if they say anything, I'll just transfigure it into a pewter one."
Grace snorted. "No, you won't. That's got to be a second-year spell."
"No, I will," James said, and puffed out his chest. He pulled a wooden case from the depths of the bag, and opened it, showcasing his wand. "Ollivander said my wand is good for Transfiguration, so I'll be able to transfigure anything."
"Can I touch it?"
James took the wand out and handed it to Grace. She took it from him gently. It was a light brown, and there was a floral design at the hilt. She gave it a little swish, but nothing happened. She tossed the wand back to James, and settled back against the bedrest, feeling lightheaded again.
"Does it have dragon in it?"
"Yes! It's got dragon heartstring. Ollivander said that means my wand's got a lot of power—like a dragon."
"Wicked," she said, tone flat.
"Do you want to see Goldie?" James said, reaching for the last bag.
It was full of what Grace assumed were James's course books. Among them were some haphazardly thrown photographs. James pulled one out at random, and showed Grace. It was of a medium-sized tawny owl atop a perch in Eeylops. The owl's streaks were a light brown, but Grace supposed that in just the right light they might have looked gold. Goldie was squawking at whomever was taking the photograph, ruffling his feathers threateningly.
"You named him Goldie?" Grace handed the photograph back. From her periphery, she saw her parents coming back into the ward with Healer Kane, a tall woman in light green robes
"Of course I did," James said proudly. "You should've seen him when I came into the shop, Grace! The clerk said he was the most rambunctious owl he'd ever had, but Dad said he was just colorful like me."
Grace was no longer looking at James. Her sights were occupied by the trio making their way to her hospital bed. Her mother was talking rapidly to Healer Kane, who was becoming increasingly confused, while her father looked completely torn. When they were just a couple beds down from Grace, she heard what they were saying:
"I'm only asking for your professional opinion, of course," Mum said. "Tutors are always an option. I hear they're very popular these days. There are always fliers for them posted all over Diagon Alley—you know, the ones with the singing textbook—"
"—and then Goldie nipped at my finger, and I knew he must've liked me—"
"These are excellent points, dear," Dad interjected hurriedly as they neared. "But—but do you really think Grace would be okay with that? She's had her sights set on Hogwarts for so long."
"What?" Grace murmured to herself. Were they talking about her? Getting her a tutor? But she hadn't even begun—
"We've got to consider the facts at hand, Monty—"
"—so the clerk took Goldie out of the cage, but then he bolted—"
"—I simply don't think it's a good idea for Grace to be so far away from us and for so long with her condition."
"No!" Grace burst. Her parents and Healer Kane looked at her. James's voice faltered and then quieted. "You can't do that! I—I've got to go to Hogwarts. I've wanted to go for so long—"
"Grace," Mum said soothingly, coming forward. "I know you want to, darling. But your health has been wavering recently—"
"It hasn't!" Grace cried out desperately. Her heart twisted uncomfortably, and tears were building up in her eyes, although Grace wasn't exactly sad. She was angry. "It hasn't been wavering. It's always been the bloody same—"
"Grace!" Mum scolded. "We'll talk about this later—"
"I don't want to talk about it later!" Grace rubbed at her eyes. "This is the first time I've had an episode in nearly three months. And—and didn't that one Healer say my paroxysm would calm once I get a wand? Because of the taming principle or something?"
Her mother and father exchanged looks, and Grace felt her heart sink. Her mind was in a frenzy. She couldn't even fathom not going to Hogwarts. It had been her dream for so long—living without her parents, growing as an individual, learning to function without someone hovering over her shoulder every five minutes. Hogwarts was the place she could finally be free. Her parents couldn't just take that away from her.
"That is true," Healer Kane spoke at last. She approached Grace, and pulled her wand from the depths of her robes, tapping it against Grace's left temple. A bluish haze emanated from the end. "Have you been given a Pepper-Up yet, Grace?"
"No."
Healer Kane twisted towards Grace's parents. "Could one of you ask one of the trainees to fetch a Pepper-Up?"
Dad nodded, and hastened off.
Kane withdrew her wand and pocketed it in her lime green robe. "There's been a lot of magical activity clouding around your temporal lobes, and there's still latent energy in the background. Have you been trying to fight it off, Grace?"
"Sorry," she whispered.
"It will only make it worse. If you want to lessen the severity of the paroxysm, you can't fight it off. You've got to just let it happen. I know it's difficult, but otherwise it'll just be more drawn out and painful."
"But when I do try to fight it off, it doesn't happen as much."
"You're paying a large sum for something so little, Grace."
"But isn't that better?"
Healer Kane sighed. "Not exactly. When you try to keep an episode at bay, you're inadvertently gaining a kind of tolerance—you're building up strength. As a result, the magical strain simply builds and builds. And when your body can't handle it anymore, it'll come flooding out, and a lot will flood out."
"But—but—" Grace's voice was softer than a feather, "I'm supposed to go to Hogwarts."
Grace's father slipped back inside the ward, hands gripping a vial of Pepper-Up Potion, which he handed to Healer Kane. Healer Kane twisted the cap off and gave it to Grace, but Grace only stared solemnly at it. She didn't want to be pepper-upped unless she knew for certain that she would be allowed to attend Hogwarts.
"Grace," Mum said tiredly. "I told you: we'll discuss this later, when you're feeling more up to it."
"Well, Mrs. Potter," Healer Kane cleared her throat, "you did ask for my professional opinion. I don't see the need to pull Grace from Hogwarts. It's simply the difference of Grace suffering under magical strain at home or at Hogwarts, and I would say it might as well be Hogwarts. At least there she'll be practicing channeling her magic; it would further the waning process."
"But—what if she has an episode?" Euphemia said with worry. "She'll be so far, and without us—"
"I happen to know the Hogwarts matron very well," Healer Kane said kindly, "and she's the very best at her job—better than some Healers here, I daresay. Grace would be in good hands at Hogwarts. In fact, I would suggest making an appointment with the Headmaster about special accommodations—perhaps weekly check-ins with the matron, Healer on call, monitoring magical build-up."
Dad's brows raised. "That's certainly an idea."
But Mum still wasn't convinced. With pursed lips, she asked, "Couldn't it very well be the opposite? Too much magical exposure could send her into a frenzy."
"I think it would be fairly accurate to say Grace has spent far more time than normal in St. Mungo's," Healer Kane said. "She comes by here weekly, and occasionally stays for a period of two to three days for monitoring at any given time. She's never gone into a frenzy based on the magical exposure here, and it would be remiss of me to think Hogwarts has more magical energy than St. Mungo's."
"Alright…" Mum said, mulling it over. She glanced at her husband. "I suppose we ought to set up an appointment with the Headmaster."
"And if he says yes to accommodations, you'll let me go to Hogwarts?" Grace said.
"We'll see," was all Mum said. But, behind her, Dad nodded, and Grace felt a little more at ease.
She tipped the contents of the vial into her open mouth. She could work with a 'we'll see' and a hidden nod from her father. She had gotten more out of less. One way or another, Grace Potter would find her way to Hogwarts.
A/N : i hope you enjoyed this! i've always wanted to do a kind of fix-it fic, but i also wanted to do it with an interesting protagonist/reason. let me know what you think!