SIX – thoughts, and the absence of thoughts.
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I know he's there but I'm not listening. Not really. I'm gazing into the fire. Watching as the orange flames lick at a piece of wood, destroying it, turning it black, white, to ash. He's speaking gently, but I'm not listening, studying my hands as they clench the robes I'm wearing. Hermione. It was Hermione who found me in the showers, conjured a stretcher and brought me back to the common room. Hermione who settled me in this comfortable chair and left me to sleep, to dream. Hermione who chased all the students away, told them I'd fallen off my broom, told them to leave me to sleep. Hermione who had gently clothed me in this soft robe that smells of grass and wind and damp wool, and Oliver. It was Oliver's robe. I smile quietly to myself, for someone I've barely spoken to in the five years she's been here she seems to know me very well. And now, now she's sitting beside me on the edge of a table, listening as he whispers gently to me, as Dumbledore whispers gently to me. I can hear him, his deep voice rumbling, he wants me to speak to the ministry wizards. To tell them. I can't. I can't. Doesn't he see? Don't they see? Hermione sees. She stops him, whispers to him. Leave me for now. Perhaps I'm in shock. Need rest. How's Oliver? Still asleep. Still unconscious. Hermione will look after me, make me sleep; make me take Pomfrey's potions. Ward off unwanted questions, and perhaps I'll talk tomorrow, when I've rested. I don't think I'll ever talk again. How can I? There's only emptiness. A great, all-consuming emptiness. And nothing to fill the void. I can't see. Can't hear. Can't feel. I can only smell. The heavy grass-scented, heavy-wool smell of Oliver's robe. Of Oliver. Where is he? How is he? Why isn't he here? why isn't he protecting me? Oliver. My Oliver. Where is he?
I barely notice when they all leave, Dumbledore and Pomfrey and McGonagall and all the ministry wizards, when they all leave the common room. I barely notice as Hermione helps me to my feet, guides me to my dormitory, settles me into my bed and draws the curtains tight around me. No one will know, she assures me as she forces me to drink a potion. Dumbledore won't tell anyone. But he's still determined, determined to find the culprit, to punish him. I don't answer, don't speak, don't hear, don't see. I'm numb. I can't. She leaves me then, leaves me to rest. But I can't. My brain is suddenly filled with an ill-timed desire to do something, anything. I rise from the bed, angrily. Scratching my arms irritably. I want to run, to jump, to scream and shout and wail. But this all-consuming emptiness holds me back. Stops me. Makes me frustrated, I scratch at my arms. Scratch and scratch, not noticing, not seeing, not feeling. I can't see, can't feel. Not until my nails break the surface and I look down. Blood. Blood. I've scratched my arms until I've drawn blood. Great, red lines bleeding, oozing. And stinging. I can feel. I can see and I can feel. A strange rage fills me, starting in my feet and rising until it reaches my chest, my throat, escaping in a stark moan. I can feel. I can see. Blood. It takes a moment of looking around the room until my eyes settle on an unlikely source, and then I smile mischievously. Angelina's goblet. She leaves it by her bed; she always wants a drink in the night. Silver, burnished silver and pretty crystal. Very pretty, I think as I hold it high and let it smash to the ground. I heard that. Saw that. Felt that, as I step onto the splintered glass, feel the tiny shards dig into my flesh, see the droplets of blood I leave in my wake. The feeling is bubbling in my chest again. It wasn't enough. I turn quickly, grabbing a handful of deep red, velvet, yanking the drapes around my bed to the floor. Better. A little better. I smile again as I reach Angelina's bed, and then Alicia's, ripping the drapes away, tossing the cushions and the covers around the room. I'm filled with an almost manic desire to break, tear, destroy. I move around the room, clutching, lunging, breaking, smashing. No sound utters from my lips, no tears from my eyes. I don't hear the noise; don't feel the pain as I stamp around on the glass and smashed ink bottles. Eventually I slump. Gasping for air as I slide down the edge of my bed. What was I thinking? Has this helped? Me? Oliver? Anyone? I survey the destruction, inhaling the metallic smell of spilt ink, intermingling with the saltiness of my own sweat and the heavy grass smell of Oliver's robes. All pervading. Oliver. What has he done to me? Tomorrow was a precipice. I could think, feel. And now there's nothing. No one. No one. Nothing. Nowhere. No one but Oliver. And I can't help him and he can't help me. We're both chained, him to a bed, me to my own, stupid, self-inflicted walls. Why can't I tear them down? Even with this manic destruction, they're still there. Still standing. Refusing to budge. Refusing to fall. Just like the tears. I sigh deeply, wanting to hold my head in my hands, to push the thoughts away, to feel emptiness once more. But my hands are creeping across the floor; my right closes on a thin stick of wood, ten inch, rosewood, one unicorn hair, slightly pliable, good for charms. My wand. And my left? My left hand closes over something small, something cold. Something tiny and insignificant. Something sharp. I lift both hands into my lap, gazing down at them as I open them. My wand, my entrance to the wizarding world, the first thing I owned that made sense to me, that I could feel, touch, and it somehow responded. And the other? A tiny piece of glass. Tiny. Insignificant. Sharp.
"Reparo." I whisper as I wave my wand nonchalantly around the room, watching as the drapes spring back to surround the beds, the feathers stuff themselves back into the cushions and pillows, Angelina's glass lifted, repaired, to her bedside table. The spots of ink and bloody footprints disappear with my thoughts, my feelings. Nothing. No one. Nowhere. Nothing. Alone. Alone, but for the wand, and the tiny piece of glass. Tightly caught in my hand, it's been unable to return to it's place in the mirror over my dressing table. The mirror I had broken with my own bloody palm. Now the cuts on my palm are gone, instead when I open it there's a tiny piece of glass. Tiny. Insignificant. Sharp. I shrug slightly. Could be useful. Could be handy. I rise gently, and tuck the tiny piece into my reformed pillow. Lie gently on the bed, my wand clutched to me. Nothing. Nowhere. No one. Nothing. Alone. Empty.
That's how Hermione finds me; only my eyes are closed, feigning sleep. She leans over me, smiles slightly. Ah, but she doesn't know me at all really does she… I smile to myself as I hear her exit the room, she didn't notice the tiny chip missing from the mirror over the dressing table. Didn't notice I wasn't really asleep. Didn't really notice me at all. Invisible. Invisible to her. Invisible to him. Invisible to them all. Nothing. No one. Nowhere. Nothing. Alone. All alone. Alone to lie in peace and ponder. Why does my body feel so weightless, my mind so blank? Something akin to having drunk too much Butterbeer. But it's calm, peaceful. And I allow my mind to wander as I drift into an uneasy sleep, not wanting to dream, not wanting to be awake. Is there an uncomfortable space in between? I suppose so as I seem to have found it. Nothing. No one. Nowhere. Nothing. Alone. All alone. Invisible.
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XOX, I just read your review. And no, most of what Katie's going through hasn't happened to me, thankfully. But in different ways, I have shared her fear, her terror, her emptiness, her sadness and her panics. So yes, in that respect I understand what she's going through and I think the boundaries between make-belief and my life do blur a little. I'm enjoying writing this and I honestly don't care if I never get another review! Okay… so I'm a good liar… :p your reviews help soooooo much you wouldn't believe! Really putting a smile on my face!! This is about release though I think, releasing thoughts and feelings I wasn't sure I had, or could ever put down on paper. And also releasing a pent-up desire to write something decent! So thank you very, very much for your input. It seriously is much appreciated. And a warning, this fic is going to get sooooooooo much darker before Katie sees a chink of light over the horizon, so beware, and don't say I didn't warn you!! :p kisses