Exordium: Freedom

"Ginny, Luna and Sarah, best friends forever! Only... Sarah doesn't technically exist. This is the story that almost didn't happen. WARNINGS: DARK! Angst, suicidal ideation, suicide attempts, LGBT OC. Don't like, don't read."

Second Reading: Four of Swords

8-8

The Four of Swords shows a period of rest and recovery after a time of challenge, with the promise that, once recovered, you can and will return to the challenge. In the meantime, the Four of Swords provides a new challenge – to stay silent and inactive. This is the time to build up your mental strength. Meditate and spend time in a calm atmosphere. You need to replenish your strength and spend time in spiritual thinking. You need to rest and relax.

8-8

[Charm, or curse?]

I'm just... laying here. The only word that seems to come to mind is... disappointment. My perfect day... my one perfect day. I should be at peace. I should be walking into the light. I should be burning in hell. I should be... somewhere, ANYWHERE but here!

Yet I cannot ignore the taste of dirt in my mouth. The smell of said dirt... that too is rather difficult to ignore – it'd never been a favourite of mine. Feeling pinpricks of that cursed and thrice damned dirt on my forehead, pressing hard against my nose, on the backs of my hands...

At first I'd simply hoped that I was hearing Papa's voice answering me. Perhaps it was some magic I'd never heard of – certainly there must be spells and enchantments out there that an uneducated witch, as I, had never heard of. The underused 'happily ever after' part of me, perhaps, had hoped that it was Papa casting a spell that might lock my memory in his heart forever.

But no. All that just is not to be. I wonder what kind of curse this 'arresto momentum' truly is. What curse would be vile enough to so effortlessly remove all hope from me... forever.

There's a soft sound, like a mute whistle. Then half a moment later, there's the definite cracking of someone apparating. Then again... and again... and... Each cracking sound steals a little more of what little joy that had miraculously found me today.

"SARAH!" Ginny... hearing her sound so relieved tears me in half. I feel her dive on top of me, hearing her whimper and mumble happy things, even as she curses what she sees as my 'foolishness'... every single proclamation slays me. Only, like my obviously bodged attempt, I survive.

Soon I hear Luna join in the happy tidings. Mrs Weasley is too busy cursing up a storm – worse than I'd ever heard her complain about Fred and George. Mum seems all too happy joining her, as is Gemima.

Everyone seems to be here... watching me.

Somehow I find myself in Mum's stiff embrace. I feel her hands flitting over every inch of me, likely checking if I'm alright. I hear her say something, but I don't understand her through the fog of my emotion.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?" Okay, that I heard. I'd have to be deaf not to. "My boy, my precious boy." She dissolves into tears, clutching me to her bosom. "And why are you wearing makeup?!"

I don't know what truly did the most damage. Was it finally being happy? Was it the hope of peace, or perhaps spending the entire day in a woolly cloud of make-believe that allowed 'Sarah' to breathe at long last? Whatever it was, it thoroughly destroyed all that kept me silent in the past.

"I HATE YOU!" My voice had never been so shrill, or broken. Mum goes stiff instantly. All murmuring that had been going on dies just as quickly.

"I hate you." I repeat, almost as if to convince myself I'd finally said it. "Denying me the only peace I'll ever know. How could you possibly be happy?"

"I. Hate. You."

8-8

[A candle in the dark]

"No, Ginny, I don't think you going along is at all a bright idea." Mum says firmly. I don't even bother to care what's going on. It's been three days since I've bothered to care what's going on – which I only know because it's been three times since Ginny's left my side.

There seems to be some kind of commotion going on outside my door, not the first or last since I was unwillingly dragged here. And I mean just that, Papa was unwilling to petrify me, so he literally had to drag me here kicking and screaming.

"Don't try me, Fred. I'm already half tempted to send you to the moon for keeping quiet about this." Fred?

"Everyone's only been bloody shouting about it since the girl could walk! You didn't know because you never bothered to look!" Yes, that's Fred – George is too cautious with his words and tone to ever sound like that.

"That's quite enough, the lot of you!" Mrs Weasley somehow manages to outshout everyone out there. There's some more mumbling and squabbling that doesn't quite reach my ears... until: "Delia dear, we've been the best friends since our Hogwarts days. We're sisters in all but blood, and you know how I feel about family. But frankly, my goddaughter is in the room you are currently trying to keep me out of." That last part was said so... protectively. It is almost as if Mrs Weasley is threatening Mum to get out of the way, or else...

"SEAN IS N-" There's a loud clapping sound that stops Mum from continuing whatever she intended to say. Whatever it was, the silence out there is suddenly deafening.

"Have you ever once stopped to think about what's truly been going on? That if Arthur hadn't suggested for Ronan to take the rest of the day off... your daughter's corpse would've been all you'd've had left to collect from that place." There's a long, too long, pause. It's seriously quiet enough for me to hear them breathing now, as if the entire house is engulfed in this heavy cloak of stillness – the Scribe house being without noise is almost like a cemetery without graves (creepy with, but downright awkward without).

"Your daughter actually jumped off a cliff, Delia. A cliff! You may not like it, but Sarah needs this."

8-8

[The brothers Weasley]

As much as I've heard Mrs Weasley complain about Mr Weasley's enchanted muggle carriage, I'd never any reason to expect her to usher me up to it and tell me to get in. I look at it, barely believing the situation to be real. It's a light blue, and it looks to be quite small. Still, with the right charm, I'm sure the inside could be much larger than its size allows me to guess at.

"Come on then, Sarah. Hop in. It doesn't bite." I'm instructed. So I get in the passenger side door – it's only got two doors, and I'll certainly not be allowed to drive – and hop onto the back seat. It's rather odd really. Fred's already back there, sitting by the window, so there shouldn't be so much room left. I mean, from the outside it looks like it seats four, at best.

Knowing intellectually that the right charm or enchantment could easily make more room... it pales with the directly observable evidence that it's actually true.

Ginny gets in behind me, and George behind her... the four of us sit down, buckle up and get comfortable – with room to spare, mind you.

Mum claps the passenger seat back – obviously it was leaning forward to allow us access to the back seat – gets in and shuts the door. Mrs Weasley barely has the time to get in the carriage herself, before Fred and George get up to their usual mischief. "So George, how long before we can make Mrs Scribe regret tagging along, d'you think?"

"What's the rush, Fred? It's a four hour drive. We've got loads of time to find out." As out of it as I feel, as little interest in anything as I have, I'd have to be thick to not notice a few telling details here.

First off, Mrs Weasley would normally never leave the twins unsupervised longer than is strictly needed – even though they've been going to Hogwarts for years. Seeing as Mrs Weasley is standing in front of the carriage, and is obliviously rummaging through her bag for something, she'll not even notice if the twins set the carriage on fire!

Secondly, Ginny's usually the first one to jump up and warn the twins about Mrs Weasley's temper. Not only is she not dishing out her usual warnings, but she's trying – and failing miserably – to hide an encouraging smile. I lean into her and lay my head on her shoulder. I'd often thought of her as godsend, but frankly I doubt I'd have gotten in the carriage at all without her here.

Lastly, and to me most striking, is the twin's obvious malice. They may be troublemakers, they may be rambunctious. I'll even grant that no one should or would rightly lose track of where they are at any time, to prevent the then inevitable trouble that will ensue. They are pranksters, through and through.

But they are not malicious.

Even with everything that's been going on... somehow I can't help but feel safe with them surrounding me.

"Can I interest you ladies in a stick of gum?" George offers, all polite and gentleman-like. I still turn him down though.

8-8

[A drive worth remembering]

"One day, I'll look back on these troubles, and _. Quote from Babbity Rabbity and the cackling stump." Ginny reads aloud. We're doing the crossword puzzle in the Daily Prophet – why Ginny thinks reading in a carriage is a good idea is beyond me. Still, I'm not doing it, so I'll not be getting an upset stomach from it.

"Smile." I recite easily. I can't help but smile about it myself. I'd always thought of that story as somewhat familiar, even when I'd first heard it.

"Babbity?" Fred asks as he looks over my shoulder, probably at George.

"Rabbity." George seems to agree to whatever they are getting up to this time – it can't possibly be anything good.

"Here comes hilarity!" They announce in stereo. Then, out of nowhere, they both take out their chewing gum and slingshots and launch the, quite frankly sticky and gross, item right at Mum.

The first instant after the loud and squishy-sticky sound echoes through the carriage, I can't quite figure out how to react. Part of me is furious that they'd do that to Mum, and rightly so! However, the loud and angry part of me is giggling her bum off. It might not be as... flamboyant as their usual antics, but this far more risky than I'd dared imagine from either of them.

I turn to Ginny, hoping to find some kind of... I dunno. Help? Guidelines? Some kind of sign which perfectly normal reaction is socially acceptable. Our eyes meet, and instantly I can see every thought going through her mind. Her eyes are wide; she's shocked that the twins would be so brazen – they usually are, but not with Mrs Weasley just there to catch them red-handed. Slowly, the corners of her mouth curl upward and her hand shoots up to try to cover the evidence; she wants to laugh, but isn't sure if that's okay either so she stifles it as best she can. She notices that I suffer the same dilemma, so she lowers her hand to stop hiding it. Then she bites her lip a little and her eyes start to twinkle; she's losing the battle and is going to laugh anyway.

I feel my eyes crinkle a little as I bite my lip too. Almost as if I'd given her permission, the first breath of her laughter reaches my ears. Soon we're both laughing, even as Mrs Weasley and Mum are cursing up a storm.

"Sorry, Mum. We'll try not to announce it next time." Fred 'apologizes'.

8-8

[Purge and Dowse, Ltd.]

Four highly entertaining hours later, we arrive... I suppose. I look around, but can't see much of anything worth travelling this far for. We seem to be in a... busy(ish) side street. There are some shops here and there, some with customers and some without.

"Alright, who wants to stay in the car?" Mrs Weasley asks, obviously expecting no one to want to stay behind. I'd not have guessed we could all be out and on the sidewalk so quickly, but I suppose that the thought of staying in the car any longer is quite the motivation – not to mention the drive back that is still to come.

I stand, looking around to try to discover where we are – though I'm certain someone had mentioned it at some point that I can't recall. Two discount muggle clothing stores, a... muggle drug store – a funny name, really. I suppose those are just homes – wizarding or muggle, I can hardly tell. No, there is nothing here I can identify as being worth coming here for. Not that I'm really complaining – it was quite funny to see how often the twins found different ways of making Mum miserable.

"Alright now, we're still quite early. I hadn't really expected us to get here quite so fast." Mrs Weasley explains. Though I'm certain that the brief glance towards Mum and then myself means that she'd expected more resistance from one of us – or perhaps both. We cross the street and walk up to... well, a closed department store. There is this one mannequin in the window, which is wearing a rather mangy and outdated suit from... well, frankly before Nana's time. Other than that, I can see nothing of interest, other than the odd name – Purge and Dowse, Ltd.

"Appointment for Sarah Scribe. We're a bit early, I hope that's alright." Mrs Weasley says. Why would she speak to a... Is that mannequin nodding? "Alright, everyone through." She grabs Ginny and I and walks us right into the window!

I fully expected... well a lot of things really. What I didn't expect, was to suddenly find myself in... a hospital waiting room? I... I'm simply at a loss for words. There's a witch (obviously a witch, considering that hers are wizarding robes, though lime green) behind the majestic white counter, who's looking at us expectantly.

"You're indeed quite early. You'll have to wait your turn, and only two may enter with young Miss Scribe. You may squabble amongst yourselves who it'll be, but if I have to step in then it'll be me deciding who'll be going." She doesn't seem very nice. At all. In fact, I'm hoping that whatever we're doing here... that it'll have nothing further to do with her.

Wait, why do I have an appointment? What's going on? I turn to Mum, mostly out of habit. "We're here for a test. Nothing more." She explains vaguely. She's never vague. Ever. EVER! Whatever this test is, she's not happy about it.

8-8

[The cure that ails]

I'm so caught up in trying to make sense of what is going on, that I barely even notice how time flies. We are called, and Mrs Weasley and Mum tug me along to wherever it is that we are meant to go.

I quickly find myself in an office of sorts. There's an examination table where a patient could (un)comfortably lay on, a desk that seems curiously vacant and... a man that seems to be in his late forties. I can't say much about him, other than that he's bald and clearly hasn't aged very well.

"I'm professor Verum, one of the head Healers here. I've been in touch with Mrs Weasley about your case, and I must say I'm pleased to finally be able to meet you, Sarah." The man says kindly. I just stare at him, wondering what any of the even means. I have, of course, heard of healers – with three siblings in Hogwarts and one in Japan actively studying some rather dodgy magic; they were bound to tell me fascinating tales of those that managed to patch them up. Only, why would a Healer be interested in me?

"You seem to have quite a few questions, which I'll get to in a minute. First, however, I need to ask you a few questions to see if there really is something I can do for you. Is that alright?" He continues, not unkindly. I think about that for a moment. On the one hand, I'm dying to know what is going on, and if I answer a few questions he claims to be willing to explain things. On the other, how do I know he'll answer me honestly, and why must he go first? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I nod.

"Are you the child of Ronan and Delia Scribe?" I like the way he poses that. I nod. "Are you ten years old?"

I shake my head. "No, sir. I turned eleven this past February."

"Ah, I see. Will you be attending Hogwarts?" He asks with an obvious smile. I shrug, unsure how to answer that. Truth be told, I hadn't been expecting to be allowed to leave Mum's sight for the coming decade or two.

"I've received my letter, and I believe I have everything I need to go." I say as honestly as I dare. Hopefully he'll leave things lie.

"Then why are you uncertain?" No, obviously not. He seems curious, but I can't seem to read anything beyond that. My eyes flick towards Mum, briefly but long enough for him to understand. "Ah. Should you still go, which house do you think you'll be sorted into?"

I shrug again. I'd honestly never bothered thinking about that. I know that essentially every Scribe that ever attended had been sorted into Ravenclaw, but frankly I just never gave it any thought. Still I should say something, "That's what the sorting hat is for."

"Too true. Have you any friends that'll be attending?" He continues as if nothing is wrong with me not knowing.

I smile. "Ginny and Luna. I can tell that Luna's fit for Ravenclaw for sure. And Ginny's brave enough to be a true Gryffindor." I don't know what it is, but he just has this... calm and unassuming air about him that I can't help but trust him a little.

"You three been friends long?"

I roll my eyes, but can't help smiling a bit wider. "Forever. I can't remember a time we weren't together."

"How do you feel about them?"

"I love them." I say, much in the same way one talks about the sun rising – special, awe inspiring and utterly poetic, but rather common knowledge. "They're like sisters that I don't feel like strangling half the time." I bite my lip, hoping I don't get into too much trouble.

"Spend some more time with them, you'll come around." He winks at me, obviously understanding what I meant. "How do you think they feel about you?"

"Luna's a bit hard to read these days, but I know she loves me just the same. And Ginny... she's upset with me right now. She loves me too much not to be. Though really, she's really been the only one that's helped keep my head above water."

"Your mum hasn't?" I become painfully aware that Mum is right beside me. How did this man distract me so thoroughly that I allowed myself into this predicament?

What do I say? How could I possibly explain what the reality of the situation is? I start fiddling with my fingers, trying and failing miserably to come up with an answer. "It's alright; take your time, Sarah." He encourages.

"I know she'd wanted to." I say. "I know Mum loves me... I just..."

"You just... what?" He encourages once again. I suddenly feel very small, fragile. I'm fighting to hold myself together, even as I feel myself falling into pieces. "It's alright to cry sometimes, you know."

Without meaning to – or wanting to for that matter – tears stream down from the corners of my eyes. I swipe at them, hoping to stem the flow. Futile, of course. "Are you afraid your mum would love you less?" I hug myself, almost as that would magically stop the remaining pieces of me from crumbling.

A pair of arms engulfs me. My head is gently laid against a bosom, two chest-pillows soft and welcoming. Unassuming, accepting, loving. Even being this messed up, I know it'd have to be Mrs Weasley hugging me. I nod and mumble that I think exactly what the professor just asked.

"How does that make you feel?" That was all my heart could take. If hearing myself sobbing is bad, then hearing my sobs echo off every nearby surface is hell. Yet, no matter how hard I fight it, I can't... The thought, only the thought, of Mum or Papa not loving me...

8-8

[The long way home]

We never got around to my asking any questions. Even after I'd calmed down, I just wasn't in the mood. Still, even after being trapped for another hour in the carriage with my protectors and my captor... I can't seem to get that scene out of my head.

After the professor was satisfied with what all he'd extracted from me, he'd grabbed a funny device out of one of the dozens of drawers on the wall. It glowed red as he handled it, then he'd handed it to Mum. It immediately glowed blue. She'd handed it to Mrs Weasley, though this time it didn't change colour. Mrs Weasley had encouraged me to take it, though only Mum seemed surprised that it didn't change colour as I took it – whatever that meant.

After the professor took it from me, and it immediately turned red once again, something was explained and Mrs Weasley was handed a small box.

Someone mumbles something, but I don't bother to notice who or what. I just bury my face a little deeper into Ginny's lap. I do remember how upset Ginny was when she noticed I'd been crying, and how protective the twins became as well. But I... I just didn't have the energy to tell them it was nothing – my usual defence. I hear Ginny say something, but that too doesn't quite breach the haze I find myself in.

From time to time, I feel Ginny stroking my hair. There's also another hand I feel, rubbing my lower back in slow, deliberate circles. Some times that second hand rests on my left thigh, as if it's tired and needs to rest. Still, I know the owner of that hand is trying to be there for me – that helps.

8-8

[The modern day knight]

Eventually the drive winds down, and we make it back to my familiar prison. I hear the passenger side door clank open after some muttering and I hear Mum's flats crunching the dirt beneath them. A grinding sound meets my ears, showing that Mum just spun around on a dime, and the sound of the front seat clicking and cranking forward immediately follows.

"We're home. It's time to get up, Sean." I feel an eye twitch at the sound of that name – funny, that's never happened before.

"And just in time too!" Papa? "I was beginning to worry that I'd have to leave without you."

My head snaps up quickly – a fact I instantly regret, now that my neck is hurting from it. Sure enough, Papa is standing there, in the shade of a tree, with a rucksack in one hand and tiny box in the other. What's this talk of leaving? Is he going somewhere?

"Molly, could I bother you and Sarah for a moment?" He... Papa, he...

Ginny and I share a look – she's happy too, but not nearly as surprised as I – and she urges me to go to him. I get out of the car, but I'm slow to move towards him. My legs feel as if they'd been turned to stone.

He's standing there in a suit, only not that boring, plain grey one. No, it's violet. A beautifully bright and wonderfully colourful suit that contrasts his black hair, deep grey eyes and his almost sickly pale complexion. He's standing there, and he's smiling. That smile he reserves just for me. The smile I've always seen him wear at five in the morning as I hand him that first mugful of coffee to help wake him up. The smile he wears when I do something he's impressed with. The smile I've always gone above and beyond to see.

"Can't an old man get a hug from his princess?" He holds his arms wide, though the smile fades slightly – as though he's worried that I'm somehow upset with him. I don't think I could fly any faster than I'm running at him.

The last few strides I don't even bother taking – I jump at him, refusing to take any longer than is absolutely needed. His arms are around me in an instant. Over and over, I both hear and feel him kissing my brow.

It's not a moment later that he says, "Oh Sarah, my precious little girl. Could you ever forgive me for not seeing this before?" Words fail me. All I can do is clutch his shirt and hold on as if my life depends on it, even as I bawl. Somehow, I fear that this is just a dream, and I do not want this to ever, EVER end.

"Professor Verum gave her this. Says she'll-"

"I know, Molly. I know." Papa interrupts, but I can't tell what either is talking about. "I bought a present for Ginny – a trinket really considering all she's done. And there's something in there for you and Arthur as well."

"Ronan, sh-"

"I'm taking her up to Godric's Hollow for the week. Just the two of us." I don't care that Papa is daring to once again interrupt. I don't care. I'm in his arms. Those gangly, wiry arms that are wrapped protectively around me. He sees me as I truly am, and he's going the extra mile to show that he loves me.

"I'm warning you, Ronan. You'd best be on your best behaviour, or else! She's been through enough already."

"We'll be in London on August twenty-eighth and stay in the Leaky Cauldron. Reservations have already been made for both the Weasleys and the Scribes, so you'll have plenty of time to politely interrogate her on my behaviour."

8-8

[Just playing with some cards]

It's almost hard to believe that it's been a day – a full worry-free, trouble-free day. Papa thought it wise to let me rest, so we've mostly been in the cosy little room we're sharing. He let me lay down on the couch, using his lap as a cushion and he even found some old quilt to hide me under. It's been... surreal.

We didn't talk much, not really. I've never been one for babbling, and neither is he. So what do we usually end up doing? "The king of cups. She's repressing some deeply rooted feelings." Tarot. It's Papa's way of talking, just explaining what the cards are saying and every now and again adding some information he feels is worth saying.

"Ten of swords. She feels defeated, perhaps even subconsciously messing things up for herself – making things harder than they need to be." Yes, Mum and her 'resistance' is the current topic. "Fifteen, the devil. Destr-"

"What about what lies before me?" I ask, hoping to steer this somewhere less frustrating. He shuffles his deck once again and takes the top card to study.

"Three of swords. Heartbreak, betrayal." So much for less frustrating – depressing isn't a step up. "Ace of cups. Emotional fulfilment, joy... hmm. Odd, those two cards almost never go together."

He takes the next card, but this time doesn't say what it is. Then the next card, again staying silent. Then the next. "Well, obviously letting you transition is the only option." He mumbles.

I'm just about to ask what that even means, but before the first syllable flies, "Sarah, what I'm about to tell you will no doubt have a lasting impact. Now though, I'm almost certain it's the only impact I can truly live with."

"I don't understand." I tell him honestly.

"You know what I like to do when I'm unsure of myself?" He pauses, taking another card. "I ask myself a single question and I take a card. Every time I ask about not letting you transition, the future is dark and morbid." There's that word again. 'Transition'. What is he talking about?

"Yet, each time it's about letting you go through with it wholeheartedly, you're at peace. No, at peace isn't strong enough a description. You glow, you shine, you radiate." That's all wonderful, but it doesn't really explain what we're even talking about.

"So, I'm going to have to ask you to help me make it up to your mum in time. But there is no doubt in my mind that this is the only way forward." He eases himself out from under my head, taking care to lay me down gently – which I could have done just fine, but I'll not complain.

He walks over to the table, and picks up a box. "Molly mentioned this yesterday." He says, looking more at the box than at me. "This is what Professor Verum says is the only way to help ease your suffering – or at least the only way he knows."

I sit up, letting the quilt fall onto my lap. "Papa?"

"There are many ways the wizarding world has viewed those just like you. People who are born a perfectly healthy specimen, but do not find peace in the body they inhabit." He's rambling. He only rambles when he has no idea how to even begin to explain what he's thinking. "I'll not lie to you, Sarah, none who choose this option ever finds peace with the world. People always find out, and many will hate you for it. Unjustly so, unfairly so, but it is so just the same."

"Papa, I don't understand what you're talking about."

He sits down beside me once again, trying to encourage me to lay my head on his lap. I refuse this time. Whatever this thing is, this 'transition', it's too big a deal to relax completely.

"Like it or not, you were born with the body of a boy. Your anatomy, your DNA, your future development, all perfectly normal for that of a typical boy. However, there are some, just like you, that reject it, fight it. Your mind and your body are constantly at war with one another." Okay, yes that I can agree with. "Should nothing be done, you will develop and grow into a strapping young lad, and that, I take it, is exactly the problem. Isn't it?"

I nod, hoping against hope that this is going where I'm now silently praying and wishing this is going. He opens the box, peering into it with an odd mixture of hope and hopelessness in his eyes. "I'd hoped it was a pendant, or a necklace. A bracelet will do the job just the same, but is by far harder to hide."

I shake my head, wondering why he's explaining what's in the box – or rather, what's not in the box – instead of what it does. "What does it do?"

"So long as this bracelet touches your bare skin, your body will... Well, you'll be a girl." My heart is suddenly throbbing in my throat. "I know you want this, child. Just please, consider the price you pay."

He barely has the time to offer me the box, before I grab it out of his hands. I reach in and I take the item I find there. It doesn't look like much – just a plain, silver linked bracelet with a little golden ball hanging from it.

Even though it's already touching my bare skin, I feel no difference. "Please, Sarah. You must be careful with that. If it touches anyone else's bare skin, they too will change. Temporary, yes, but that may well give you away. And you don't want people to think you are anything but a girl, right?"

I think about that for a moment. Well, he's right. I want to be the girl I know I am, and I obviously don't want to be seen as anything but. Still, I don't really notice any actual difference.

"Well, it should fit around my ankle." I say, wrapping the bracelet-turned-anklet around my leg. I tuck it away inside my sock, for good measure. Well, that was fun. Hmm, I suddenly feel like I have to wee, badly too.

I rush to the loo, hoping that I make it on time. As I land – dry, thank heavens – I don't really notice anything major. Well, it's not like I'm in the habit of checking how that traitor is at every given opportunity. It's when I finish up, and wipe with some toilet paper that I notice... I'm bleeding!

"Papa!"

8-8

[Little oddities]

Well, as the saying goes: be careful what you ask for, you just might get it. I got it alright. The pack of pads Papa begged the witch at the counter to help him pick out, the bloodstain in my underwear I now have to wonder how I'm going to get out, the feeling bloated, the god-awful smell each and every time I go to the loo. And I'm rather paranoid, so I go to the loo at least once an hour to make sure I don't mess up my clothes again!

I'd overheard Gemima and Mum complaining about this exact thing once. The obvious conclusion, from both of them, was that this was a pain but bearable, all things considered. Neither seemed happy about it, but both understood that it was simply something that had to be weathered – though woe betide any that cross them during that time. So why is this... thing... this period, this menstruation... why is it making me happy?

Don't get me wrong, I feel miserable! But I keep smiling like a complete buffoon none the less.

"How's my little princess feeling?" Papa asks, tugging me into another hug. He has no idea what to do with me, or himself for that matter. He's been to the store twice to buy whatever it is that he thinks will 'ease my suffering' – whether by my insinuation, or his own jumped-to conclusion is irrelevant. Chocolates by the dozen, a gallon of ice cream, this herbal tea that the clerk said should help – horrid tasting stuff, and I can't even tell if it's helped or not.

"Hungry." I tell him, wrapping my arms around his middle. Somehow, of everything he's offered, his hugs help most.

"Did you need me to run to the store for something?" He offers for the umpteenth time. I shake my head, telling him that I just want supper and to curl up in bed. "How about you go curl up in bed, while I got see if I can arrange that supper?"

8-8

[Father-daughter bonding]

"You need to annunciate very, very clearly. Tur-GEE-Oh." Papa corrects me. I repeat the incantation over and over, trying to remember it as best I can. "Right. Give it a go?"

I point my wand at the offending item – doing by best to ignore the embarrassment that required Papa to stay outside while dealing with this. Luckily, it's just an old pair of boy's underwear that I'll likely never wear again. A fate cemented by Papa promising to take me shopping when we get to Diagon Alley – though I still guilt-tripped him into letting me buy some necessities in town.

"Tergeo." I intone. The... stain... is sucked into my wand, leaving only a clean pair of briefs. Well, a clean, steaming pair of briefs. I sniff the item, just in case, catching a whiff of seemingly fresh out the dryer clothing... with a scent of mountain blossoms? It's almost as if Mum had washed it herself...

"Did it work?" Papa asks nervously. When I don't answer him quickly enough, he leans in for a quick peek he thinks I won't notice. "Well done! It's p... Sarah, why are you crying?"

I feel his hand caress my cheek, right then left. I look up at him. He's right. My vision is bit blurry, and I notice that my cheeks are both wet once again. Would I have enough noticed I was crying if he hadn't pointed it out?

"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" I shake my head, about to tell him that it was nothing – lies work best when you've practised them. "It's about your mum. Isn't it."

I don't move, I even try not to breathe. This isn't a conversation I want right now. As happy as the past few days have made me, I'm not in the mood for this. I feel Papa rubbing my back, trying to soothe me as best he can. "So, tergeo is under the belt. Should we try another practical one? Hmmm... how about the scouring charm? Or perhaps the mending charm? Both can be quite useful!"

"C... can't I just cuddle up on the couch?" I ask.

"Not today! No, no no no. Today I'm teaching you an unhealthy way of dealing with your anger." He says, seemingly excited about that. He just-barely-doesn't drag me along, instructing me to sit on the couch and wait 'just a moment'. He grabs two glasses from the mini-bar and hands me one of them.

"Now, did you want to go first?" He asks. When I look at him questioningly, he shrugs and flings the glass into the fireplace! "That was fun."

I give him a look, as if he's lost his mind! "Now, to repairing it. The incantation is 'reh-PAH-roh'. Only this time you have to make a specific motion with your wand as well. Watch." He waves his wand in a fluid sort of up-side-down triangle motion while intoning the incantation.

"It's sort of like writing a rune-styled 'a'." He says. I'm too busy watching the glass pull itself back together, so I'm not too sure what he's talking about just yet. Papa walks over to the fireplace and collects the glass – which is clearly no longer shattered. "Now come on. You'll feel better if you can pelt things guilt-free."

8-8

End of Second Reading

8-8

A/N: Nothing much worth saying right now. This chapter is a bit shorter than I'm happy with, but it started to feel like I was dragging it out. No, Sarah isn't going to 'magically' get over her shyness, her depression or her anxiety in crowds, in fact I'm not even sure if she'll get over all three at all.

R&R, let me know what you guys think of Sarah and how she deals with the world.