What the Healer Said

Disclaimer: The HP world belongs to Rowling, not me.

I am picking daisies in the garden. Their petals are soft. Draco and the boy are strolling some distance away and talking. If Draco had been alone, I would have gone walking with him. But I don't want the other boy to look at me. I wish Draco had not invited this boy to stay with us. He stays with his friends all year round at school. Why can't he stay with me, at home? Maybe he doesn't enjoy my company much. After all, I hardly ever talk to him.

So, I walk around on the other end of the garden, picking flowers. I hear a buzzing sound. I look around trying to find where it's coming from. A bee is sitting on a white flower. I must approach carefully. The butterflies always fly away. This bee mustn't.

I pick the flower it is sitting on. It flies towards my face. My cheek is stinging. I feel like telling the bee, 'Why did you bite me? I only wanted to see you.' But it has flown away. I feel my cheek. It has swollen. It burns more than when Father slapped me for drawing on the walls.

I look around for Draco. I can't see him. My vision is blurry. There are tears in my eyes.

I see the other boy walking near the cherry tree. Maybe Draco is nearby. I walk up to him.

'Hi, Ebony!' he says, looking at me, 'Er…why are you crying?'

All my life, I never understood the meaning of "er." The boy is looking closely at my cheek.

'Draco,' I say softly.

'What?' he asks.

'Draco,' I repeat.

'Oh Draco, he's somewhere around. Do you want me to call him?'

'Draco,' I say again. Why can't the boy understand that I want to see Draco? Why must he ask me so many questions?

I turn away to go and look for Draco myself. My cheek is feeling numb. I see Draco coming.

'Hey, Blaise! There you are!' he says.

Then he looks at me.

'What happened, Ebbie? Are you hurt? Why are you crying?' he says.

'She was saying your name again and again,' says the boy.

'She was? She hasn't spoken in weeks!' says Draco.

I feel very angry. All Draco cares about is me speaking. Why does everyone always want me to speak? What am I supposed to say? I feel like singing, but my voice does not form the tunes in my head, I feel like drawing, but the colours merge into swirling shapes as an oil film on water. How can I separate the thoughts from my visions and arrange them in words. They want me to talk, but I keep talking in unheard sounds. How can I communicate with them who do not feel the impulse of the moment?

Draco comes near me, and lifts up my face with his hand.

'Her cheek has swollen. Something's stung her,' he says.

'I think I know what to do,' says the boy.

He points his wand at me. I cringe. The last time father had pointed his wand at me it had hurt very much. I get puzzled when Father makes different faces at me, he pulls his lips in a line or his eyebrows come together on his forehead. That is not the face I know. I am scared then.

The boy mutters something and the pain on my cheek vanishes. I touch my cheek. The swelling has gone.

'Thanks, Blaise,' says Draco.

I smile at the boy. He smiles back.

'Listen, Ebbie,' says Draco, 'Father is calling you inside. Healer Watkins is here to see you.'

Draco holds my hand and leads me back inside the house. The boy is following us.

Healer Watkins is sitting in the living room. I enter the room.

'Here she is, Mr. Watkins,' says Father.

Healer Watkins walks up to me and smiles.

'How are you Ms. Malfoy?' he says. I don't answer.

'Still reluctant to speak I see. Has she spoken since then?'

'I'm afraid not,' says Father.

'She has,' says Draco, 'She spoke today.'

'And what did she say?' says the Healer.

'My name, just my name,' says Draco.

'Well, I suppose you can't tell me when my daughter's going to recover from this muggle disorder?' says Father. His voice is rising. I sense trouble.

'Mr. Malfoy,' says the Healer, 'Autism is not a muggle disorder. It is one of the few psychological disorders that affect both muggles and wizards. It cannot be cured; I've told you so, Mr. Malfoy. However, it can be managed and with professional help, your daughter can be taught to be independent.'

'Independent? She doesn't even say her spells out loud. She sits in the library all day or in her room by her window, rocking to and fro. She throws food at guests. How the hell is she going to be independent?' says Father.

Draco holds my hand. He knows I don't like being discussed.

'Mr. Malfoy, calm down. I understand completely. I have brought with me some potions which Ms. Malfoy must take daily. They will help her to trust others around her and convey her thoughts to them. Now, you mentioned that she sits alone in the library? That's not right. She mustn't be left alone. There must be people around her always; you must keep talking to her. Only then will she make an effort to come out of her shell. And I recommend taking her to meet new people too. Perhaps young Master Malfoy can take her along to some friends of his. It will be good for her to meet her peers.'

'She's not setting a foot out of this house. Do you know what people say about her? They say she's insane, mad. I'm not having her tarnish the Malfoy honour,' says Father angrily.

'Mr. Malfoy, she's your daughter. Don't you think her happiness matters much more than your family's reputation? And besides, I don't think any decent, civilized section of our society could call her mad,' says the Healer.

'Look, I don't want you to come here any more. When I brought her to you, you said that you would cure her. You can just get out of my house, THIS MINUTE!' shouts Father.

I hate it when Father shouts. Draco is trying to restrain Father. Mother is crying. I put my hands over my ears to shut out the noise, and run out of the room into the library. The boy follows me.

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