Chapter 8

"Did you enjoy your stay with your friends, Flower?" my mum asked when I plopped down onto the couch beside her. I had wasted all my angry energy on my walk home, so now I was rather tired.

For a moment, I considered lying again and saying everything had gone perfectly at Annabelle's house. I even had my mouth open, the story halfway out of my mouth, before I switched to the truth. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I told her everything, the good parts and the bad. My mum and I had always been close, but we'd gotten a lot closer since Dad and Petunia had left us. I felt like she was truly the only person I could trust to tell everything to.

There was a short silence after I finally stopped talking while my mum processed everything I had just told her. She looked thoughtful, with her index finger tapping her lip gently. I couldn't help but smile; that had always been a gesture of hers when she was considering something very carefully. It was good, getting to see a little bit of the old mum shine through this bruised and sickly husk of a woman.

"Well, for one thing, I do think you were a bit harsh with this James boy," she said at last. Her tone was gentle, as she knew I was liable to blow up at this subject. As always, she could pick up on the most pressing issues of my life just with a simple rant. "After all, he was only trying to be nice to you by inviting you to his party. Perhaps he was trying to go for a truce?"

"But Mum! He's James Potter!" I cried, as if this was supposed to mean something significant to her.

She simply blinked back at me. "I still think you could have been nicer to him. After all, it is his birthday and you were quite rude to him. Besides that, you should always try to be at least civil to everyone. We raised you better than that, Lily."

I gritted my teeth and glared at the carpet. "He wasn't nice," I spat.

Next to me, my mum sighed. "We aren't talking about James Potter anymore, are we?"

I said nothing, digging my nails into my thighs instead. No. We were no longer talking about that idiot.

"Honey, how long are you going to hold a grudge against him?" Mum asked quietly, resting a bony hand on my shoulder.

"Forever!" I snapped, stilling not looking at her. "He left us, Mum. He doesn't care about us, and I bet you he hasn't had one decent thought about us since he left! He just left you and his daughters alone to fend for ourselves!"

Once again, she sighed. "Lily, he's your father. You can't feel like this forever. You have to learn to let go of the negative feelings, Flower. If you keep holding onto your anger, it's going to eat you up inside. You'll become bitter and cold. I couldn't bear to see you like that."

"Why shouldn't I be angry?" I shouted, jumping off the couch, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "Aren't you? He basically told us that he didn't care what happened to us! He left you alone to die, Mum!"

"H-he couldn't handle it," she said softly, but she wouldn't look at me. "He just had a lot on his mind—"

"HIS FAMILY SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE ONLY THING ON HIS MIND!" I yelled, scaring Romeo so that he went streaking past my legs down the hall to my room. "HE SHOULD HAVE STAYED TO TAKE CARE OF YOU! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE STILL DEFENDING HIM!"

"I love him, Lily," my mum said, meeting my eyes again. She was crying. "I always have, and I probably always will. You don't just wake up and stop loving somebody."

"I did," I said flatly.

"You don't mean that," she said firmly, shaking her head. "He's your father! You love him. You're just angry and hurt—"

"Get real, Mother! Do you really think he still loves us? If he did, he wouldn't have left!" I was panting and my face was hot; I knew it would be red. My eyes were burning but I refused to cry.

"Of course he loves us!" she said fiercely. "Don't you dare say that he doesn't! And I know you love him, too—"

"NO I DON'T!" I screamed, slamming my palms flat against my thighs with a loud slapping sound. "I HATE HIM!"

Before I knew what was happening, my mum had leapt off the couch and slapped me, hard, across the face. "Don't you ever say that again, young lady!" she hissed. I simply stared back at her, holding the side of my face in shock. My mother had never, ever hit me before.

Suddenly she swayed on her feet. Wordlessly I helped her over to the couch so she could lie down for a while. I fixed her a cup of tea and brought her some painkillers.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. As I turned to go to my room, however, she latched onto my wrist. I looked down into her pale face to find that she was still crying, and she looked as shocked at her behaviour as I felt. "I'm sorry, Flower. I can't believe I—I don't know what came over me. I'm so sorry. I just got so angry…I shouldn't have hit you."

"It's okay," I assured her, giving her a small smile and a squeeze of her hand. "I shouldn't have said that I hated him."

As I turned away, I muttered under my breath, "Even if it was true."

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The next day, my mum and I went on a walk right after breakfast. I could tell that she wasn't really feeling up to it, but I also knew that she was trying to make up for the row last night. We tried to pretend everything was normal, but there was an underlying awkwardness whenever we spoke to each other that proved otherwise. I hated the fact that I had let that good-for-nothing man open up a chasm between my mum and I. There had once been a time when I'd thought our relationship was forged from marble: solid and unbreakable. But I now knew that a difference of opinions had cracked that slab of rock.

Steadily, however, over the next few weeks, things got better. We never mentioned the fight on an unspoken agreement. It gradually got easier to speak to each other without the discomfort that had been there previously.

Unfortunately, though, it seemed to me that my mum's health was growing worse. She was getting paler and paler by the day, and steadily lost her appetite. She soon stopped going out of the house altogether, and it seemed to me that Laurel was coming over a lot more often.

"Complications due to the cancer," the curly-haired nurse replied when I asked what was going on.

"Laurel, I'm not stupid," I said, putting my hands on my hips. We were standing in the driveway after one of her visits. "Tell me what's going on."

"I did," she said distractedly, searching around her purse for her car keys.

"She's my mother, Laurel. I deserve to know what's really going on," I said more persistently. "Explain it to me."

Suddenly she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Pushing her mop of dishwater blonde hair out of her face, she put a hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eyes. "The chemo has compromised Ruth's immune system, Lily. She can't fight off infections anymore. Even simple illnesses, such as the common cold, leave her body exhausted."

"But she stopped chemo months ago," I protested, shaking my head.

"Yes, but the radiation destroyed most—if not all—the white blood cells in her body. Her body is simply running out of defence mechanisms."

"Well, that's just fantastic! If the disease doesn't kill you, the cure will, right?" I sounded haughty and mean, but I couldn't help it. I knew it wasn't Laurel's fault this was happening to my mum, but I was lashing out at her anyway because she was the only one I could lash out at.

Laurel reached out and set a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently. "I know this is tough on you, but I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of your strength so far, Lily. I've seen dozens of children your age deal with the same thing you are, and not one have been able to handle it so maturely. Your level-headedness gives your mother strength; you're her anchor."

Averting my gaze to the ground beneath me, I thought about this last statement. Me…strong? I was definitely not physically strong. I was just a scrawny little runt, as so many people seemed to love to point out to me. I didn't think I was all that mentally strong, either. If I had been, surely I would have found a magical cure for this by now. Before I knew it, Laurel was letting go of my shoulder and getting into her car again.

Finally I turned and went back inside the house.

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About a week later, I got my yearly Hogwarts letter, with my list of supplies for the upcoming year. This would mark the very first summer that I would be going to Diagon Alley alone; given my mother's worsening condition, I doubted she would be able to come with me. So, I gathered up some of the money I'd made babysitting for the neighbours and took a taxicab right to the Leaky Cauldron. I paid the driver and got out, heading for the pub.

My first stop was Gringotts, to exchange my Muggle money for the wizarding currency so I could buy my supplies. Once that was done, I made my way into the shops that lined the cobblestone street. As I passed the owl emporium on my way to the Apothecary to stock up on potions ingredients, the hooting of the many birds filled my ears. On pure whim, I ducked inside the shop, which was kept quite dark and smelled a bit funny. Peering into cage after cage, I finally stopped in front of one that held a brown owl speckled with white. Its large amber eyes stared unblinkingly back at me, and I turned to find the shopkeeper standing right behind me, grinning from ear to ear.

"This one, then?" was all he said.

Slightly uncomfortable, I nodded. I paid for the bird and as I stepped back into the bright sunlight, I contemplated my purchase. I already had a pet for Hogwarts (Romeo) but I realized that getting this owl was actually a rather smart idea. After all, if my mum ever needed to get a hold of me, an owl was the ideal way. However, I tried not to think about why my mum might need to contact me.

As I made my way back to the Leaky Cauldron, I watched as a group of people gathered outside of the Quidditch shop. They were goggling at the latest broom model, which I noticed looked remarkably similar to the one James had been showing off on his birthday. I tripped over my own feet and nearly fell on my face when I realized it didn't just look similar; it was the same broom! I couldn't help but feel a surge of jealousy.

Quidditch and flying had always been my secret and guilty pleasure. I loved going to all the games and watching the players, and I had loved flying ever since I'd first tried it in my first year. I hadn't told anyone—not even Abby or Annabelle—about my obsession because I figured they would think it was silly. Even though Abby herself was a Quidditch player, I thought she would scorn my desire to be on the team, too, because I was small and not very coordinated. That never stopped me from fantasizing about it, though.


A/N: I know, I know...kind of another lame-ish chapter. This story is going really slowly, unlike my other one, and I just hope you guys can be patient with me, because I know it's slow, but I do have some pretty big plans for the plot and such, so yeah. Just be patient, k? As always, please review! I love you guys! ;-)