This Chapter Was IMPOSSIBLE TO WRITE. I hope you all enjoy my snowed in, lazy attempts.
Chapter 5: Clinically Selfish
Saint Mungo's was founded by Healer Mungo Bonham in the 1600s (The exact date has been lost to time) for the purpose of giving witches and wizards a safe place to be healed. St. Mungo's is heavily fortified as it was once a safe house for magicals to hide in during the witch burnings. Now it is hidden behind an abandoned department store window. Please remember, that you must have a magical signature or be in contact with someone with a magical signature to enter the building.
-St. Mungo's Pamphlet (Mass produced as of 1990)
St. Mungo's is a place of nightmares, despite its appearance (and history) as a safe place. Behind closed doors, people are dying as you walk through the window, medicines are failing (causing disinfectants to be pushed through the air you breathe), and the clinically insane are just lying there forever. My mother is one of the clinically insane.
There is a theory that after a certain amount of torture, the brain shuts down certain pathways in an attempt to save itself. If the brain is not restored within 48 hours, supposedly the brain's functions start breaking down, until eventually the only thing you can do is breathe. This is why there were manuals written on exactly how long you need to torture someone. After all, it wouldn't do to torture them into a vegetative state and then not get any answers from them. Unless you are twisted enough just to torture because you can.
My Mum's brain isn't corroding (as far as our magical scans can tell) due to a stasis charm on the brain. This is supposed to keep the brain intact, but still open to treatment, like when you hit the pause button on a Teevee, you can still fast forward. I disagree. I think the charm keeps your brain frozen, meaning that no matter what I do, my mother can't hear a word I say. And that scares me.
I wake up to the sound of someone screaming. Oh. I'm screaming. I should probably stop.
It was the dream. I hear the screams of my mother, and then I find myself inside her head, watching her mind shut down and break. My vision is blurry from tears by the time I come to. I slowly become aware of soothing strokes on my back, and of my shoulders shaking.
"Shhh…Shhh…it's okay, darling. It's ok."
I find myself clinging to whoever this savior is, sobbing into their shoulder. I take a deep breath and smell tobacco and cinnamon. It's my grandfather. Weirdly enough, he doesn't smoke. He just believes it's always appropriate to have some tobacco to offer someone. Some weird muggle thing I guess.
I slowly lift my head up until I'm facing him. I see his extremely pale face still covered in freckles after all these years. His wrinkled hand is smoothing my hair down, and his hair is still turning gray, changing from its reddish brown to a color that doesn't suit him nearly so well. As I look at him I realize. He's only 53. Only 53, and he's already lost his daughter. I didn't just lose my mother that day. He lost his child. His only child that didn't resent her family.
It's times like these, at three in the morning, when you realize that others are hurting just like you. It's before you rub the sleep from your eyes, and you're still partially trapped in your dreamland that you have an epiphany. And even when it fades, you still have the nagging feeling of understanding.
"What was the dream?"
"It was The Dream." I reply, and grandfather nods in understanding.
"Yes, that's a bad one."
"Do you ever get your own version of the dream Grandfather?" I find myself asking curiously. I don't know why I say it, but I suddenly am overcome with the urge to know I'm not alone.
"Sometimes, Flower, sometimes. Sometimes I see what life was like before you mother was tortured and I can't stop screaming, knowing what it going to happen. But then I wake up and I realize I have you, and I feel better. So, perhaps, you need to think of that as well. You have Peter, Neville, myself, and-"
"And who?" I ask, suddenly scoffing. "James? I don't have him."
"He cares for you flower. He just can't show it well."
"Whatever," I mutter, suddenly angry.
"Well, you'd better get to sleep, it's rather late now." Grandfather says, standing up and making the bed shift. "We do need to head off to St. Mungo's tomorrow."
"Oh goody," I mutter sarcastically, "We can't miss that." Grandfather either doesn't hear me, or ignores me. I just pecks me on the forehead and walks out. Leaving me alone in the dark. Luckily, the scream have faded from my ears, even if the fear hasn't faded from my mind.
BHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHP
The funny thing about fear is, you hardly acknowledge it until it's right in front of you. For me, this mostly happens right before I come into contact with my fear. St. Mungo's.
St. Mungo's is a place of nightmares, despite its appearance (and history) as a safe place. Behind closed doors, people are dying as you walk through the window, medicines are failing (causing disinfectants to be pushed through the air you breathe), and the clinically insane are just lying there forever. My mother is one of the clinically insane.
There is a theory that after a certain amount of torture, the brain shuts down certain pathways in an attempt to save itself. If the brain is not restored within 48 hours, supposedly the brain's functions start breaking down, until eventually the only thing you can do is breathe. This is why there were manuals written on exactly how long you need to torture someone. After all, it wouldn't do to torture them into a vegetative state and then not get any answers from them. Unless you are twisted enough just to torture because you can.
When we reach the front desk (Peter, Grandfather, and I) Michelle just smiles at us and waves us through. You're supposed to prove your identity every time you enter St. Mungo's, but by now Michelle knows me well enough she could spot an imposter from a mile away.
And then, as we are climbing the stairs to the Permanent Ward. Because some people never even get to leave in body bags.
As I open the door and walk in, I see several of the Healers and Medi-Witches who frequent the Permanent Ward. They've known me since I was five. They helped raise me as well.
"Becca, how are you doing?" I'm asked by Sarah, a friendly Healer who focuses on the long-term effects of brain damage. She's a specialist who often studies Mum.
"Fine, I guess. I got my wand." I reply. Sarah, on top of caring and studying Mum, tries to be a second Mum to me to help. Not that she's successful, but it's nice she tries. Sarah smiles widely.
"What is it?"
"Elder and Phoenix." Sarah's smile wavers slightly, but then she comes right back to happy mode. She's really good at faking.
"Congratulations!"
"Thanks" I say, and I wander over to Mum. "So, how is she?"
"Well," Sarah begins, "Her brain appears to be stable, although her health has dropped due to inactivity. We will have to cast some more spells on her to keep her stable, but she should be back to maximum health soon!" She finishes, grinning.
"Well, kind of." I reply. Sarah's grin fades.
"Right. Kind of. So, Shall I leave you alone?" I just nod, and Sarah walks away. That's when Grandfather and Peter some over, having stepped away to allow me to speak to Sarah. I smile at them gratefully.
Grandfather sits down slowly in the chair beside me. Peter flops dawn and then leans forward and says "Hello Lily! How are you feeling today?" Rather cheerfully. "I'm doing quite well, Peter Pettigrew is a rather successful name amongst the Media World. Excluding the Muggle World. James couldn't come today, too much work, but maybe next time, right?" and Peter just keeps talking and talking and talking, while Grandfather and I stare down at Mum. Eventually I stand up and leave, mumbling something about tea. In reality, I go outside and sit down in the hallway, my knees against my chest.
It may be mere minutes, it may be hours, but eventually Peter comes for me and sits next to me. I ignore his presence and keep staring at the floor.
"You know Becca, it doesn't make anyone feel better when you act like this." Silence. "It doesn't even make you feel better." More Silence. "She wouldn't want you to be this way." I continue staring at the floor until Peter emits a loud sigh. "When you're ready to stop feeling sorry for yourself, we'll all be there, ready to help. But if you keep pushing us away, eventually we're going to stop trying. Right now you have a Grandfather who is staring at what is effectively his daughter's corpse alone. I hope you are planning on changing that." Peter stand up and pauses right before leaving. "You're being quite selfish you know." I continue to ignore him. Peter shakes his head and walks away, heading off to work. I wait for him to get around a corner before I stand up and dust myself off. I walk into the room just as Grandfather's standing up. He looks at me expectantly, but I just walk closer to mum and whisper "Hi Mum." Before leaving. Because I can never say more than those to words to her.
St. Mungo's is a place of nightmares, despite its appearance (and history) as a safe place. Behind closed doors, people are dying as you walk through the window, medicines are failing (causing disinfectants to be pushed through the air you breathe), and the clinically insane are just lying there forever. My mother is one of the clinically insane. Sometimes, I think I might like to join her.
AN: HELLO MY FANS! How are you all? God it's been…what? 3 weeks? I don't know. I suck at keeping deadlines don't I? Well, if I'm late, feel free to start sending in flames. That should get me moving.
So, some of you may think Becca's a tad irrational with her fear of Hospitals and her refusal to speak with her mother, but they are both just manifestations of her guilt. Her guilt for being unable to save her mother while she was in the same house as her mother while she was being tortured. It's not loneliness, emo-ness, or James's desertion that truly cripples Becca. It's the bone-crushing guilt she feels for her mother's insanity.
For the record, all of the typos are because I have NO BETA. If you would like to beta, please IM me, I would appreciate it! :D
Now, onto the House Poll…
Next Chapter is the Hogwarts Express, the Chapter after that Hogwarts. I have only received one vote from SassyDoe, who wants both Becca and Neville in Hufflepuff. Disagree? Agree? Let me know!
Thank you SassyDoe for Voting, I appreciate it, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I can't wait for next chapter, because I've gotta get back to Hogwarts, and Becca's gotta get off to school. She also need to find a Home, because she's heard the word before, but it's never been much more that just a thing she's never had. Who gets the references? ;)
Stay Warm this freezing winter,
-PerfectionJune
