School: Mahoutokoro
Year: 7
Theme: Wartime struggles (Write about the effects of conflict on those involved)
Main Prompt: [First/last line] It was 11 o'clock when time stopped.
Additional Prompt: [Song] "Moral of the Story" by Ashe
Word count: 2743
Hour 1
It was 11 o'clock when time stopped.
Nausea roiled in my stomach, and I clutched my temple where it throbbed sharply. Vivid colours swam before my eyes and my knees buckled. Hands gently guided me towards, what I assumed was, a bed and laid me down.
The cool sheets were soothing against my heated skin. I tried to focus on the whispers in the background, on the strangers that were in my home, but my loose limbs and aching head were no help.
Someone turned on the air-conditioner and I felt better when the cold air blew over me.
The whispers soon faded out and all I could hear were unwelcomed voices in my head. Some were more familiar than the others. A high pitched voice of a small girl, was louder than anything else. It appeased her. It grated on her eardrums. Ignoring every other voice, she tried to focus on Wendell's soothing cadence. It was safe and familiar. But… who was Wendell?
It was at eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning when I, Monica Wilkins wondered if I had been dreaming all along.
Hour 8
I opened my eyes and instantly felt as if a train had run over me.
"Ma'am?" A male voice called out.
Was I being addressed? My body felt leaden, but my brain was running at a speed so fast, that I could barely hold on to a stream of thought.
I made an attempt to sit up, but managed only partially. I look to my left and a doctor is seated on a chair by my bedside. I assume he's a doctor given the blood pressure monitor lying on the bedside table.
"Good to see you awake. I'm Dr. Smith. How are you feeling at the moment?" He asked kindly.
I tried to sit upright, but groaned when a wave of nausea hit me again.
"Take it easy. Here, have some water," he said, handing me a glass of water. I took small sips.
"You fainted, ma'am. Can you tell me your name?"
Name? A foreign name sat on the tip of my tongue but I closed my mouth before I said it out loud.
"Jean?" I didn't understand why it came out as a question.
"Good." He smiled. "And your last name?"
"Wil— uh..." I placed my hand on my forehead, feeling confused.
"Don't worry, Jean. Can you te—"
I felt out of my element, confused and panicked at the same time. Words didn't register, and I zoned out. I tried to recall if I had had an accident, but I couldn't focus. I felt like I was stuck in murky waters, a quick sand, unable to make it out. The more I tried to concentrate, the more difficult it became.
I heard my name called out, but I was lost. A photo frame across the room caught my eye. A man stood next to me, with one arm around my shoulder and water goggles in his other hand. I focused on the picture. On Richard. Breathing became a little easier.
I kept looking at the picture, my head still heavy, but feeling like I was back in reality.
"Where's my husband?" Was the first question I asked.
"He's in the other room, with a different doctor."
Why was he not with me? What happened? Why was I so tired? Why weren't we in a hospital?
"Jean, I want you to—"
"Is he okay?"
A feeling of helplessness ran through me. There were a dozen other questions I wanted to ask, but it was difficult to word my thoughts.
"He's okay. But Jean, I want you to relax." He said kindly.
He took out a vial from a bag I hadn't noticed, and handed it to me.
"Here, have this. You'll feel better." The vial is filled with a blue coloured liquid. I took the proffered vial and drank it. I was aware I shouldn't have. There was no label on it and I had no idea what kind of drug it was, but I didn't have the energy to question.
I felt better instantly. Tension seeped out of my body and relaxed enough to breathe in deeply.
Dr. Smith told me he was a therapist and that he would help me with my memories over the next few days. He told me not to stress much and that in case of any emergencies I was to call him on the number he provided.
That night I dreamt of a girl coming home from school and showing me vials after vials of potions that she brewed at school. She handed me a blue coloured potion. "I think the calming draught will be helpful for you Mum. I know just how stressed you get when it's time for Christmas shopping."
Hour 20
Richard and I both did not feel like we were missing any of our memories, but we felt disoriented enough to go along with the process.
The sessions went alright. Dr. Smith asked me how I was feeling. Asked why we left Britain? Why did we settle in Australia?
I suddenly did not have a clear answer to those questions.
Hour 36
The next day we talked about my life back home. Our extended family and lack of children in our life. He asked me why we never had kids and I know there was a reason. There must be a reason, but I couldn't remember.
Richard had better progress with his memories than me. They told us not to push the other into remembering, so we don't talk about the past.
"Did I tell you about Carrie?" I asked, as I spread icing over a cake.
"No, mum," Hermione replied from behind me.
"She had come to the clinic last month. She was asking about you. I know Hogwarts keeps you busy, but you shouldn't lose touch with your old friends, darling," I told Hermione. I worried a lot about her. Her magic was beautiful but it had cost a lot of relationships. There were only a couple of people from before Hogwarts that Hermione kept in touch with, and I didn't want those relationships to fizzle out as well.
I swiped my forearm against my forehead, trying to get hair away from my eyes, but they kept falling back. I turned around to ask Hermione for a clip but froze when I saw her wand pointed at me. Her eyes went wide when I looked at her, but she mouthed a sorry and waved her wand.
The last thing I remembered was the anguish on her face. Then everything went blank.
Hour 59
I jerked awake from my dream and memories slammed into me. A daughter. Hogwarts. Magic.
I felt shaken, confused and enraged. I wanted to wake up Richard and ask him if he remembered. Did we really have a daughter? Was magic real? What did she do to us?
Deep down I knew my memories were back. That the dreams were real, but I couldn't wrap them around my head.
Hour 75
The next day I told Dr. Smith about my dreams. My memories.
"That's wonderful, Jean. I think it's time you speak to Hermione now."
I stared at him in shocked silence. I never considered Hermione may be here.
"She's here?"
"Of course she is." He beamed. "She wanted to bring back your memories."
"But—"
"I think it'll be best if you both talk."
He walked out of the room and a few minutes later Hermione walked in. She gave me a watery smile, but all I could remember was her wand trained on me, no hesitation on her face.
"Did you erase our memories?" I asked before she could speak.
"Yes," she said meekly. "Bu—"
"Did someone force you or threaten you to do it?"
"Not really, but Mum—"
I raised my hand to stop her. "I don't want to hear anymore."
I left the room.
Richard handled the memories of his long lost daughter better than me. He told me that they had a talk and came to an understanding. That I should too. But I couldn't bring myself to.
Hour 90
"Had fun?" I hadn't meant for my words to sound so biting.
Richard raised an eyebrow at me and went back to untying his shoe laces. "We bought that box of candy floss that you like so much. Lychee flavour."
I felt my irritation rise when he tossed the box in my direction. I stared at it with pursed lips.
"I don't want it." I went back to my book I had been reading before Richard came back home.
"You should have come with us. I can't believe Harry hadn't ever been to an amusement park before." I had been surprised when Richard told me that Harry had accompanied her to Australia. Despite Richard's pleas, I hadn't yet talked to Hermione. He had explained that there had been a war in the Wizarding community, but it wasn't enough to sway me.
"And what about Ronald? Why didn't he come?" I ask.
"He couldn't leave his family. His… elder brother didn't survive the war."
My grip tightened on the book. It struck me how I hadn't thought of the casualties that a war sees. Perhaps because of the effortlessness of healing charms and convenient transportation methods, but still one couldn't dismiss instantaneous death.
"I think you should forgive her now." Richard's calm voice interrupted my thoughts.
"I don't understand how it's so easy for you to say."
"She's our daughter, Jea—"
"You think I don't know that? Do you think I'm that heartless? Of course it... hurts and I want to forgive her. But do you even understand what she did to us? How swift her actions were? One flick of her wand and we were banished to Australia!"
"Darling, calm down." He climbed the bed, took hold of the book I was holding, and tossed it aside. I hadn't realised how roughly I was holding it. "First of all, she wasn't happy with what she did. She was a child and… made a mistake."
"How does this translate as a mistake, Richard?" I asked, looking into his eyes. "She could have talked to us. Have I—had we ever ignored her qualms or worries? We could've sorted this out. After all these years, how could she not have trusted us?"
Richard sighed.
"I don't think it was a matter of trust. She… she thought what she was doing was right, at that time. Her actions were perhaps hurried and panicked. And she realised that soon. And children do make mistakes sometimes. Hermione never gave us trouble as a child." Richard chuckled. "Maybe all that was calm before the storm, as they say."
Richard motioned with his hand, asking me to turn around. I shifted and felt his hands press down into the top of my spine.
"Does that excuse her?" I asked, my shoulders drooping. I winced when Richard massaged a knot on my upper back. Hermione had always been too mature for her age. I sometimes wondered if the trait was in her nature, or other parents weren't that good with… parenting.
"No, it's not an excuse," Richard said softly. "But maybe you should sit with her and try to talk to her. Understand her perspective."
I hummed at his idea, not very eager to listen.
He pulled me into him, arms wrapping around my midsection and rested his chin on my shoulder. "Jean she's—", Richard sighed, "—she's actually been through a war. Yesterday I saw her flinch when I shut the door too loudly. Her first reaction was to reach for her wand… which she didn't have. She has tremors. I've noted her hands shake from time to time. She didn't tell me why, when I asked her."
"Do you think," I paused when a tear slipped from my eye, "we made a mistake? When we sent her to that school?"
"I don't know. I sometimes wish we hadn't, but her magic was too strong. We wouldn't have been able to help her."
Hour 100
I surprised Hermione when I greeted her with a good morning the next day. Usually when she would come over to meet Richard, I would leave the room, so I could understand her astonishment.
She stared at me in silence, then gave me a small smile. "Good morning, mum."
Mum, I had almost forgotten what that sounded like.
"I made some scones last night. There are some leftovers. Would you like some?" I was attempting to sound nonchalant, but realised my mistake as soon as the words slipped from my mouth. Richard and I had never really enjoyed scones. I only ever made them for Hermione. And after last night's conversation, I had been too restless to get some sleep, so I put on my apron and started baking.
It wasn't until much later that I realised I had made Hermione's favorite dish. There had been many such days in the past year when I would make scones while stressed. Richard and I always ate them half-heartedly. I never understood why I repeatedly baked it and Richard never complained either.
"Yeah. Scones would be wonderful."
I place the plate of scones and the marmalade jar on the dining table and sit opposite to her. Her hands shake as she breaks the scone apart. Whether the tremors were a result of trauma or…. I couldn't even complete the thought. It must be a psychosomatic disorder, I convinced myself.
"Is dad not at home?" she asked.
"He's at the clinic," I said. "I would like you to tell me why you thought it'd be best to erase our memory."
She nodded and looked down on her plate. "By the end of fifth year and the beginning of sixth year, there had been many attacks on Muggles, Muggleborns and anyone who was openly against Voldemort."
It felt like yesterday, when I had sat down with an eleven year old Hermione and browsed through the books on magical community with her. Almost every book had a great deal of information about the First Wizarding War, and how a baby had defeated a man named Voldemort. I wish I wouldn't have believed that.
"So I waited—," she fidgeted with a piece of scone,"—I waited for someone in the Order to address it. You remember the Order?"
"Yes." She had told me about the reformation of the Order during her fifth year. Just to tackle some unrest, she had said then.
"I waited for Harry or Ron to bring up the issue, but no one was interested. All everyone cared about was the 'greater good'. But by the end of sixth year it got really bad. Headmaster Dumbledoor was killed in our school. The death rates increased. Harry was given an almost impossible task to complete, and I just didn't know what I was supposed to do."
"And you didn't think it'd be wise to come to me? To your parents?"
"What could you have done, mum? We were facing terrorists. Terrorists who could do anything because they had magic," she said, tears falling from her eyes.
"We could have done this! Come to Australia. Settle here for a while!"
"I couldn't leave mum. The Death Eaters had taken over the Ministry. They were tracking down all Muggleborns, snapping their wands and sentencing them to the Dementor's Kiss. Not even death was enough. And being Harry's friend, I was already a strong target. I was too worried they would have tracked me down."
I sighed.
She got up from her chair and sat beside me. "I'm so sorry, mum. I didn't know what to do. I won't do anything like that again."
"Okay," I said and embraced her.
Hour 130
Conversations about her year away, and our return to Britain were not broached. All of us needed time for the intense discussions, so we tried to relax for the moment. Upon Hermione's insistence, Harry went back to Britain to spend time with the Weasleys.
We took Hermione to the nearby beach, and Richard and Hermione snorkeled.
I watched them from where I was sitting on a blanket, and hoped that the new chapter in our life would be better.