Gillian didn't know what to do now that she knew all she did. She didn't know how to talk to Harry, how to comfort him. He was experiencing pain like she had never even contemplated. So, she ran. She ran all the way home, arms thrown in front of her and she darted and dashed through veils that jumped in front of her. She knew…she knew.

Gill ran through her front door, throwing it open, startling her parents, but she didn't stop. She ran straight up to the attic, battling through a veil at the doorway. She began tossing through boxes, searching desperately…she had to find it…where was…where was…

Her journal. She found it and began tearing out the pages. Tearing out all the memories of every pretentious pain she'd ever felt. All the drama all the darkness and everything she'd felt…it was so embarrassing. She cried in shame over her ignorance as she tore apart the pages of a fakeness she'd never known she possessed. She had wanted to be a sad, dark person, angry with the world, in constant turmoil over the plainness of everything…and how comforting plain actually was.

Ever since she learned about magic, ever since she began playing flute, it had all seemed so perfect. Wands, broomsticks, castles, unicorns…wonderful things she had fantasized in childhood, come to life. But, five seconds in Harry Potter's head, in Harry Potter's life…

Gill collapsed onto her hands and began to sob, laying down and curling up on the shredded stories of loneliness and depression. She would never, never fancy herself depressed again. She would never again think her life dull. When her parents walked upstairs and found her curled up and sobbing in the papers scraps, her mother rushed over to her, holding her and stroking her hair as Gill sobbed into her chest, grabbing at her mother's shirt in convulsions.

Mr. Polkiss looked on for a minute before disappearing from the room. Gillian continued sobbing and shaking until, exhausted, she fell asleep on the attic floor.

Gillian woke up in a very, very white room. She closed her eyes, angry and irritated at the dull pain caused by the brightness on her unprepared eyes. She opened them again, blinking a few times, before turning and noticing her mother beside her, holding her hand.

"Where am I?"

Her mother smiled weakly, unashamed of the tear streaks in her makeup. "You're at a hospital, darling," she said sweetly. "We brought you here."

"Oh," Gillian said, turning her head away and staring at the ceiling. "And…why am I at the hospital?"

Her mother squeezed her hand. "You're sick, honey. I know you don't want to admit it, but you are."

Gillian bolted up in the bed. "What kind of hospital are we at?"

"You don't understand how hard it is to watch on when you're in pain. To see your daughter wasting away, growing distant…you don't understand. You will, some day. You'll know, then, that this was all for the best."

"What kind of hospital is this?" Gillian was yelling know, shoving of the blankets, and climbing out of the bed.

"Gill…"

"I want to know where I am!" it came out as a scream, shrill and cracking. A nurse hurried into the room, with the urgency of alarm and the composure of routine. Gillian knew exactly where she was.

"A…psych ward? You brought me to a looney bin? What the hell is wrong with you?" Gillian was hysterical, and she knew, in terms of proving sanity, she was doing a very poor job.

She saw the nurse suddenly produce a syringe.

"No!" she said, turning to the nurse. "No, I'm fine…really. I'll calm down. It's just…abrupt. Please, don't," she pleaded, "I want to know…why…how, first. Please?"

The nurse looked at Mrs. Polkiss, who nodded. The nurse set down the syringe in an exasperated manner, and left, hovering near the door outside.

"How did I get here? I don't remember coming…"

"Your…" she swallowed hard, "your father called the hospital. After you fell asleep, some people came. They gave you a sedative and drove you here. Your father and I dropped Piers off with the Dursleys and followed in the car."

"Dad…dad," she blinked back tears, "called the hospital? They…they drugged me?"

"I know it sounds bad…but, we agreed it was for the best. Don't worry, though. These people will help you. The doctor will be in to talk with you. They say…they say it's going to be harder to determine what's wrong since…we don't know who…your…real parents are," her dialogue was punctuated by tearless sobs as she sucked at her bottom lip between words.

"Oh." said Gillian. "Right."

There was a knock on the room door and a woman in a casual suit with a nametag pinned to her breast pocket and a gold chain holding a pair of square glasses around her neck like a piece of jewelry entered. She held a clipboard under one arm and a mug of tea in the other, the string and tag of the tea bag hanging over the edge. "Good day, Gillian, Mrs. Polkiss," she said.

"Ah…" thought Gillian as she heard the voice. "An American. That explains the bad tea."

"How are we doing today?"

Neither of them answered. It seemed a rather ridiculous question to be asked after being drugged and dragged into a psych ward.

"Ah," said the doctor, noticing their slightly bewildered expressions. "Right."

She pulled up a chair next to Gillian's bed, and set down her tea on the table next to her, taking her clipboard and flipping through the pages.

"Um, Mrs. Polkiss," she said, "Might I ask you to leave? I like to speak with Gillian alone."

Miss Polkiss nodded, taken off guard, and exited the room.

"Right," said the doctor, setting down the clipboard and turning to Gillian. Gillian looked at her curiously, wondering what was to come, when…

"Your nose!" said Gillian suddenly.

The doctor…Dr. Tinker, Gillian read…looked at her curiously, her eyes opening wide in amusement. "Yes, dear?"

"It…changed…" and Gillian got an idea.

She looked at the woman, closed her eyes and began to hum. Nothing.

Dr. Tinker looked amused and…different.

Gillian was very confused. Was the woman's hair suddenly…lighter?

Dr. Tinker smiled. "I believe I'll stop messing with you now," she said. With that, the woman's hair and nose suddenly changed back to…normal?

"How did you do that?" Gillian gasped.

Dr. Tinker chuckled. "Very easily. Although, I wouldn't suggest trying it. But, you noticed. I know what I need to know."

"You're one of them, aren't you?"

The woman smiled and funny, crooked little smile. "I don't know what you mean," she said with a wink. "I don't think you'll need to stay here. I'll tell your parents to stop worrying," she stood up to leave, grabbing her clipboard and her tea, taking a sip and scrunching her nose. "Ew."

"Wait," Gillian called as the woman began to exit the room. The woman paused. "What do you know about Harry Potter?"

The woman smiled, sadly, and left the room without a word.

Gillian was home by that night, but things weren't the same. Her parents spoke quietly or not at all when she was near, which was fine, she didn't want to talk. But they also didn't leave her alone. They seemed afraid of her and more afraid of what were happen if she were left on her own. Gillian found it hard to deal with their constant attention, as she was much more accustomed to being ignored.

Eventually, though, their interest ebbed as she failed to act in any interesting manner. They seemed put off by the fact that she didn't suddenly break into maniacal laughter or something similar.

Luckily, though, Piers didn't bother her anymore. He seemed scared of her. She had a funny feeling that their parents had warned him she was unstable. Well, that suited her fine. For now, she was only waiting. Waiting for her parents to lose interest completely again. To grow sloppy enough in their guard that she might leave the house, and, once again, find Harry Potter.

Now, she knew what to say.