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Chapter 1: Isolated
A few days passed, followed by one week, two weeks, until I was verging on my third week in hell. Isolation is what they called it, where you were trapped in a heartless room with only the nurses who check on you and a book to keep you company. After I tried to use the corner of the book to peel off the crusted scars on my wrists, as my nails were cut so short they were simply slivers at the tips of my fingers, even that friend had been taken.
On top of this, my lack of diet began to worry many. I had become a constant mute, and only let pure water enter past my lips, getting a house elf to check it first. Aunt Hermione would hate me for it but I was probably already a disappointment and shunned from the family so that didn’t matter. Like with Sirius Black, Dad’s godfather. But how would I know- I was in isolation.
So far, it hadn’t been going great. I always found a way to hurt myself, whether physically or emotionally, and woke up screaming covered in sweat and usually blood. That was when they pretty much got rid of my remaining nails. Then they had to give me special gums and spells for my teeth. Even so, my body was still a map of bite marks, entwining scars from before and crude manmade wounds from recently.
My body itself had shrunk, ribs and bones protruding from my already skinny sides. I hadn’t exactly been eating properly before the hospital, so now that I had completely thrown out food altogether, I was disappearing fast. I’d even heard the nurses talking about how they were going to shove the food down my throat themselves if I didn’t eat. I didn’t. And neither did they.
However, after two weeks of an only water diet and random vitamin injections, I was given dosages of vitamins and supplements every three hours to simply keep me alive.
Finally, after a full month alone, the doctors finally realised it wasn’t working. They hadn’t gotten a word out of me, and I was slowly dying before their eyes, which wouldn’t have been a good headline.
'ST. MUNGOS KILLS THE CHOSEN ONES DAUGHTER’.
I know they won’t put my name in the newlines- I’m simply the chosen one’s daughter. Or one of the golden children.
It all started on the Thursday morning. Two of the carers came in and took me, one on each arm, and led me slowly down the corridor. You’d have thought I was made of glass by the way they were carrying me. The walls changed from the blinding light to pale pastels, even a few colourful landscapes and eventually proper pictures coming into view. The long strips of Muggle-like lights changed to little floating orbs of colour tinged rays, fluttering your shadow in a weird jerky dance.
Eventually, we turned off the endless corridor into another room. It had a wire bed covered in various styles of blankets and duvets, a round topped set of draws and a lamp hanging overhead. On the walls were large with outlined spaces for pictures. I guess it was kind of a ‘make your own safety room’ thing. The men left me alone with a tray on the bed, shutting and locking the door behind them.
It was larger.
It was nicer.
It was lighter.
But it was just another prison.
After another five minutes of staring absently out of the small crooked window in the corner, I sit down, only to land on something hard.
“Fu-“Stopping short, I remembered my muteness. Only a slight groan had emerged anyway- all the silence must have been kicking in.
Wincing from the pain in my upper thigh, I turned to see what it was. The tray. Inside were a few pictures, a scuffed pink bear, some clothes and makeup. But not just your normal hand out stuff to make you feel welcome. It was all my stuff.
Pictures of me and my Hogwarts friends at the beach, the family all together in New York, last Christmas at the Weasley’s and my baby picture, where Mum is holding me close, Dad and my brothers behind her, all wearing weary expressions with slightly damp hair. Mum was in labour with me for 43 hours. Hell of a lot of time for one tiny child. (I had to be held in the hospital for 4 days they were so worried about my weight, like now except in days)
Seeing them, along with Marshmallow my baby bear, my favourite jumper, jeans and top and my usual make up, made me think who the hell would know me enough to pack this. No one knew that I looked at these specific pictures with teary eyes before cutting myself, wishing they would tell me not to do it. No one knew that I had kept the ragged old bear after all these years, no one noticed what I wore as clothes or make up, never paying attention unless I looked like either a right slut or completely gross. Who the hell would bother to care?
I’d forgotten all their names, the shapes of their faces until this. At last, after an entire month of sitting speechless and emotionless, I burst into tears, screaming and crying. A nurse came rushing in, prepared with bandages and a needle, only to see my sitting on the floor crying into a stuffed bear. Mature. I wanted to scream at her, shout at them all to leave me alone, leave me die in all my pain and sorrow, but I let her take my hand and give me some tissues.
Things were changing.
The only problem was that I wasn’t prepared for it at all.
“Have you heard from St. Mungo’s again?” Ron asked quietly, looking at Harry as he said it.
“Yes, got a message this morning. She was moved from isolation, and we’re having a meeting with the doctor on Saturday.” Ginny replied when Harry sat there stirring his tea, oblivious to Ron’s question.
“How are you coping?” Hermione said, attempting to fill the awkward silence. Though she looked at Ginny when saying it, she knew that it was directed at Harry’s state of mind.
“Not well. The boys are still in shock, especially James.”
“Can’t imagine what that was like for him, finding her like that.”
“Merlin only knows. I think the worst part was how we didn’t see it. We just sat around, ignorant to it all. All those scars; must have been going on for months. And we were dancing around, pretending everything was okay. The newspaper articles are definitely not helping.”
“Poor girl. Ginny, we all wish…” There was no need for Ron to finish his sentence. The amount of statements that the family had received, all ending in the same silent ending, were uncountable. Once again, they sat in stony silence, sipping at their steaming cups of tea.
“Harry.” Hermione said sharply, in a tone similar to Professor McGonagall’s. His head, with messier hair than usual, jerked from where it had been gazing thoughtlessly at the floor.
“Harry, well, there’s no nice way to say this, but as your friend, I kno-“
“Hermione just spit it out, will you? I’ve had enough of people trying to be all sugary and nice to me.”
“You look like shit, you’re not even bothering to put on a strong face, your family needs you right now and all you’re doing is moping around like a lost dog. Lily obviously wants, no, needs you to sort this out, not shove it in the cupboard and hope the door doesn’t break. You survived seven years of death and threats, and you’re falling to pieces because your daughter tried, and failed, to kill herself? I cared for Lily as well, but at least I’m prepared to help you guys help her help this.”
A silence followed, the only movement Hermione’s concerned stare at Harry’s vacant expression.
“I take it back. Think I prefer people being all sugary and fake.”
With that, he stood up and strode out of the room.
"Oh crap, that was too much wasn't it?" Hermione whispered, guilt creeping up her throat.
"No, no, Hermione, probably just the kick up the arse he needs." Ginny said, sliding over next to Hermione on the sofa. "Anyway, what you said was exactly right. All he does is wander around the house. I never see him eat, talk, smile. Usually I find him in her room, looking at the walls and the trinkets on the shelves. Almost like he's memorising them. Yesterday, he just walked out. Left for a few hours without telling us, and appeared again a few hours later. He didn't tell us where he went, didn't try to reassure me at all. It's like, soon, I'm going to lose him as well. He's ust going to disappear from my grip, just like Lily. I still haven't worked out which would be worse- losing him physically, or losing him mentally. Either way, looks like I'm going to end up with both."
"It'll be fine Ginny, he just needs time. That's what Mum said, after the war, remember? All it'll take is a little time. Give it a couple of months and the whole thing will blow over."
Lily will be a little more socialable in the next chapter. If you've read this, please can you review? It'll mean the whole entire world to me, even if it's just a simple sentence. Thank you!