Isabella

It was Isabella's third day in hospital and she was becoming extremely irritable. She hated the psychiatric ward at St Mungo's, it was the most dreadful place she had ever been to.

'When can I go home?" she asked for the tenth time that morning. She shifted uncomfortably on her bed.

Clarice sighed. "I can't give you an exact day, you know that." She drew the curtains so that the morning sun could shine in to the room. Isabella squinted, blinking several times to adjust to the new light. "We just want to make sure it's safe for you to go home."

"Safe how?" she asked. "Voldemort's defeated now, the world is safe."

"I mean, we want to make sure it's safe for you to go home, and not be a danger to yourself."

She dug her fingernails in to her palm, insulted by Clarice's choice of words. "No" she said sharply. "You just want to punish me."

"I don't want to punish you, Isabella" said Clarice patiently. "I just want to help you."

"By keeping me here against my will?"

"You're still at high risk. If I let you go home now, there's a high chance you'll relapse."

Isabella let out a frustrated cry. "But why do you care?" she asked angrily. "Can't you see that there's no point in you trying to help me?"

Clarice smiled sadly at her. "I see a very capable young woman, who has so much potential "

She rolled her eyes at that, and did not bother replying. There was a knock and they both looked at the door. It was Dumbledore.

"How lovely to see you Albus" said Clarice. She smiled brightly at him. "I take it you've come to visit my favourite patient?"

Isabella scowled.

"I have indeed" he said politely.

"Well I'll leave you two to talk." She patted Isabella's hand before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

"How are you feeling?" asked Dumbledore. He sat down on the chair next to her bed.

She glared at him. "Why are you here, Professor?"

"I was concerned after your incident."

"You mean me trying to kill myself?" she spat. "Thanks, but no thanks. I don't need your concern." She turned her head away from him.

"I'm sure you don't" he said, not phased by Isabella's tone. "I understand the pain you must have felt, I myself –"

"Don't – try and relate to me" she said menacingly. "You can't console me."

"I'm not here to console you, Isabella."

"Then what?"

"I want to discuss what happened."

"Not interested."

"Why did you try to end your life?"

Isabella turned her head back sharply, ready to shout obscenities at him, but he held her gaze. "I - I can't help but feel that I could have stopped Sam from dying" she said instead.

"How?"

"I could have literally done anything – but I did nothing "

"You were quite young."

"No, I wasn't." Her temper flared again. "I was 15. By that age, Harry Potter had saved multiple people's lives."

"Harry is an exception, it was the prophecy –"

"But not everyone has a bloody prophecy!" She kicked the foot of her bed frame. "I never heard of any prophecy about you defeating Grindewald, or any other dark wizards for that matter."

Dumbledore was a quiet then. "Isabella, who killed Sam? Who was the person?"

"You already know."

"Remind me."

She clenched her jaw. "My father" she said vehemently.

"How did he do it?"

"He used the killing curse."

"Did you play a hand in that?"

"No. But I also didn't stop it."

"Did you pass your father the wand, so he could cast the curse?"

"No."

"Did you encourage him to cast the curse?"

"No."

"Did you even know that he was about to cast that curse?"

"No" said Isabella. Her jaw was still clenched.

"Then tell me why you are responsible" asked Dumbledore. "Do you hold yourself responsible because you could not predict the future? Or that you could not read your father's mind?" She remained silent. "Isabella, the only person responsible for your brother's death is your father. The Death Eaters, Voldemort, those who encouraged him - they can also be held responsible, if you like. But not you. You are a victim to that traumatic event."

Isabella considered his words. "But it doesn't change how I feel" she concluded.

"Look at everything you have done. You gave refuge to so many so that they could be safe. You worked with me – you could have died –"

"Professor, my life doesn't mean anything" said Isabella. "It was never a sacrifice."

"But it was!" marveled Dumbledore. "And you have shown how much of a sacrifice you made by being here in this hospital today. You sacrificed your own happiness to keep going. You sacrificed being with Sam in death. You sacrificed submitting to your sadness. All this to make sure his death was not in vain, and to provide safety to those who were in danger. You did all this, even though you wanted nothing more than to leave this world."

Tears threatened to fall, and could not longer deny them in Dumbledore's presence. He politely waited until she found her voice again. "Why then do I feel like I've accomplished nothing?" she asked. "Why do I still feel so empty?"

"Because you are still grieving" he said simply.

"But I was fine before – just the other day" said Isabella. "All these thoughts…why are they crashing down on me suddenly?"

"Well, there is no time limit to how long you can grieve" offered Dumbledore. "But if you would like me to give you a more specific answer, then let me bring your attention to your past – Your first response to Sam's death, was it to end your life?"

She nodded.

"But you didn't, why?"

"I wanted justice."

"So you spent your time attaining that – careful planning, carrying out missions, living in secret as a spy for me, as well as being the Isabella Parish everybody knew you as. You were extremely busy. Now, move to yesterday; you saw your Boggart. And that was?"

"Sam's dead body."

"And what did you have left to attain at that point?"

"Nothing."

"So you did the exact opposite of what you had done when you saw Sam's body for the first time – You spent all your time thinking about his death, how you felt about it, what your response could be now it's all over – which was to do the very thing you wanted to do all those years ago, to end your life. The wound is fresh again because you relived his death for the second time, but this time you have to confront it."

She wiped her tears with her sleeve. "I can't spend my days thinking about it" she whispered. "My mind…it feels like it's on fire – I can't handle it anymore."

"Yes you can, Isabella" said Dumbledore. "You can handle grief and loss, and you have. You have done it for years."

"It's not the same."

"Of course it isn't, but you now have people to love and people who love you, to keep you going. They will be the ones that help you move on."

"Don't you understand?" she said, suddenly furious with him. "I can't move on from Sam. I don't want to!"

"Moving on does not mean forgetting your brother, or not loving him. Allow yourself to grieve, to revisit old memories. Do it all, but ultimately you must go on."

"I don't want to."

Dumbledore considered her for a moment before he spoke again. "Do you think Sam would be happy to see you in this state?"

"He might be happier with me."

"At the cost of your life?" he asked. "Forgive me, but I do not think he would be that selfish."

She closed her eyes, and leaned her head back in to her pillow. "No, he wouldn't."

"You see, it is possible. You can live with Sam's love, you can honour his memory. You are far stronger than you give yourself credit for."

"You think too highly of me, Professor."

"What can I say?" said Dumbledore. He had on his face a growing smile. "I have intense admiration for anybody who has yelled at Molly Weasley and lived to tell the tale."