"I'm scared."
That was the first thing Morgan said after being diagnosed. 3 days, 2 hours and 14 minutes after being told she was dying, and there was nothing anybody could do about it, she finally told me how she was feeling.
Looking her straight in the eyes, I simply said, "I know."
The next time Morgan spoke was 4 days, 5 hours and 2 minutes after she was diagnosed.
"I want to meet my father." she said.
I sighed. I knew this day would come. The day that I would have to tell her that her father had wanted nothing to do with her and had run away as soon as he knew I was pregnant. I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that she was dying, and the only person that cared was stood right in front of her. So I lied.
"I might be able to get hold of him, depends if he has a Quidditch tournament or not."
I had always told Morgan that she couldn't see her father because he was busy playing Quidditch for England – which was now one of the best teams in the world – which, isn't exactly a lie. He was playing Quidditch.. and he was rather busy.. but that wasn't why she couldn't see him. Morgan couldn't see her father because he is a foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach.
As soon as I finished my sentence, Morgan's face broke out into a huge smile and she rushed across the room to hug me. As we pulled away, I realised how much she resembled her father; slightly pointed chin, straight platinum blonde hair and those gorgeous silver eyes that turned slightly dark and grey when she was upset or angry. As much as I wanted to hate him, I couldn't help but miss Draco.