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Chapter 2

I asked for a mirror today. The healers wouldn't give me one. Something about shock came into play, and even nice old Nurse Judy wouldn't help me. I must be extremely ugly. I know I was hit in the face by something because that's what knocked me out, but for the life of me I couldn't let you know whether it was a spell, a person, or an inanimate object. Whatever it was, it must've been magical, because the healer's can't heal it. The left side of my face has started to regain feeling (the healer's had it numbed) and it throbs. My lip also feels much too big for my face. I've started to realize what happened and they told me I could shower myself tomorrow if I can stand.

I've regained feeling in the rest of my body too. My legs are still quite numb, but altogether whole. It was my rib cage that took a beating. I looked at it for myself today, and you would never have been able to tell that my skin was white. Three uneven slashes that were that were laid there by a death-eater remained across my ribs and stomach. Just underneath my chest there was a hole from a wand. The color of my body seemed to be the color of a violet flower, however it's neither beautiful nor attractive.

I've received visits from Hermione a few times daily. All the survivors are in the same wing of the hospital and seeing as there are so few of us, it is generally kept quiet except for friends and family.

Hermione has told me some things, like the boy I met, Harry Potter, had defeated Lord Voldemort. Now that he's dead, I've come to be able to speak his name. She's also told me that Hogwarts School, which I had heard of, had received many deaths, but most were to innocent families, and members of The Order of The Phoenix. This Order was a group who defied Voldemort and his ways, and very few remain. Albus Dumbledore, the man who started the group died a few years ago, and the Order was taken over by one Minerva McGonagall. She's dead. I've also discovered that Ron and Molly are related and he has a vast amount of brothers and one sister, and although they have all survived, two of Molly's oldest son's suffered consequences. One had been mauled by a werewolf and will never be the same, and although that happened a few years ago, he still remained a part of the order. He lost his bride of two years in battle. The other was bit by something during the combat. I think his name is Charlie. He's been asleep for three weeks now—that means I was out for two.

She's asked questions, like why was I there, and was I fighting. I could never bring myself to tell her.

I couldn't bring them to know I was a murderer either. My mother died when I was born, that they know. But I killed her. She died during childbirth. My Father is a bad man, and I won't tell them about him either. He's not a death eater, but I can't tell them that I wish he were dead.

Remus has come to talk to me often now. He's kind and gentle, and I like him. He lost a good friend in battle as well. Her name was Tonks I was told, and she was one of the funniest people they know. They said she was a privilege to have around, and I'm sorry I didn't get the chance to meet her.

Harry. I don't quite know what to say about him. I've seen him twice since I woke up. He's very quiet, and as of yesterday learned how to walk by himself again, actually, he needs a cane, but he no longer needs the support of someone living. He's not allowed to leave the hospital, and neither is Hermione. A lot of people aren't. The trauma that's been caused, and the treatments they require makes them stay in the hospital to recover. They say I might be here the longest, but Hermione has promised to visit me all the time—should they let her leave soon. She said she'll be here for Harry anyways, and the Weasley's are always here. I've met most of them, except for their youngest daughter, and the twins and the third born. He doesn't talk to his family anymore—I don't really know more than that.

I looked out the window and there was a knock on the door. Harry walked in. He was wearing jeans and a jumper with a dragon on it today. He walked with his new cane, which looked a little funny.

"Hi," he said. "Can I sit?"

"Come sit on the bed," I said inviting him over.

"How are you feeling?" he questioned.

"They still won't let me see a mirror. Am I really that hideous?" I questioned. I didn't know him well, but I felt we were all in a situation where if you didn't trust, you wouldn't receive it.

"No. You're fine." He smiled. "I can find you one, if you really want. But you have to promise that you won't kill yourself. You've lived through too much to do that." His face was grim again. It was always grim.

"If you think I might kill myself then it must be bad. My left cheek hurts a bit." I was a liar. It throbbed. The pain could possibly kill me if I hadn't felt worse.

He looked stunned at my sharp response and changed the subject. "The doctors said you couldn't remember stuff." I nodded. "They also said that there were bruises that were on your body that were there before the battle- " he coughed "older ones."

"Why were you listening in on doctors?" I questioned. He shrugged.

This time I changed the subject. "Have you seen Remus? He said he would be gone for three days." Harry looked up at me.

"Oh. He hasn't…" Harry trailed off.

"He hasn't what?" I asked my question bit sharply, but no one was answering my questions anymore. It was like they thought me to be fragile.

"He's a werewolf."

"So?" I asked. I wasn't go to begrudge Remus for something he couldn't control. It wasn't his fault, at least I hoped.

"Well it's a full moon tonight, so that's why he's gone," said Harry.

"Three Days?"

"He gets grouchy before hand, and the guy who used to make him a potion so that it was better—he's a traitor, and I think he's dead. I hope he's dead." The hatred that surged in Harry's voice overwhelmed me. My gut did a little back flip. He seemed to realize that he had frightened me and looked away.

"Sorry. The guy—Snape, he's a murderer." Harry looked up at me again.

"It's alright. I'm just a little jumpy. My Fath—" I turned away. Shouldn't have said that.

"I think I'm going to go get something to eat. Do you want anything?" He seemed genuinely concerned as he changed the subject for one of the many times that day.

"I do love the ice cream they have here."

"Me too," Harry said. "What kind?"

"Bubble gum."

"Coming right up," he said. He turned towards the door and limped out.

§

I got out of bed this morning. It has been eight days since I woke up and spit blood. I still do sometimes, but only when I'm upset. I was told I was allowed to go to the bathroom and take a shower.

As I was walked to the bathroom I realized that there would be a mirror. With a nurse on either side of me I walked about a meter. I opened the door, saw my reflection and started to cry.

I saw my face, but it wasn't mine. It was a scarred face, broken apart by bits of rubbish and bruised and bloody. My eyes stood out like a clear blue lake. I collapsed and the nurses couldn't hold me. The floor was hard, but the pain felt good. Comforting almost. The nurses rushed for help to pick me up, but as soon as they left I crawled into the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

Within moments there was talk and scrambling behind the door. I leaned my back on it, my ribs throbbing. My appearance, the one that had been bruised many times prior had never ever looked anything like this. I crawled to the counter and pulled myself up with my recently healed arms. Sobbing I looked to see what had become of my face.

The right side was only a little bit yellow. It was like a bruise graveyard. My left was what horrified me. My eye was almost squinted shut, and the scar that ran from my temple down to the mid point of my cheek was scabbed and revolting. There was a purple and blue bruise that ran from the bridge of my nose down my chin and all the way to my eyebrow. It had uneven coloring, and the green and yellow bruising was starting to make itself seen on the outside. Another cut swelled on my temple, a jagged and fleshy looking cut that made my forehead seem huge. In between everything seemed pecked and scabbed. It was as if there had been things inside my face that had been removed. At last I found my eyes. While one was bloodshot, the other seemed perfectly normal and blinking back at me.

A great big teardrop rolled down my shocking face. I looked like a monster. I tore my face away from my reflection and found a hairbrush sitting on the sink waiting for me. My hair was still beautiful. It was a dirty blonde that hung past my shoulders. It waved down a little bit, but even though it was knotty, it was clearly my best feature. I picked up the brush and made my way to the toilet seat where I sat down and started to brush. I was careful to avoid brushing over the skin near my hairline, and combed it. I stopped and sighed.

Tears still pouring from my eyes, I got up and placed it back on the counter. Different things had been left there for me. A toothbrush and hair elastic, some tooth paste and Chap Stick. I tied my hair in a ponytail and brushed my teeth until the taste of foul potions was out of my mouth. All the while there had been people on the other side of my bathroom door, whispering and talking. I sat down on the floor and waited.