Chapter 1 : Waking
| ||Rating: 15+||Chapter Reviews: 16|
Background: Font color:
It was black.
This didn’t unduly bother me- well, as long as there wasn’t some scary monster lurking in the darkness.
I tried turning my head, looking for light or a scary monster, but I couldn’t move.
This bothered me slightly more than it being black. I had no chance if I couldn’t run away. I mean jeez. Give me a fighting chance.
Okay, attempt to follow the light.
Wait- scratch that. Do I really want to follow the light? It sounds a bit death-y.
The white light was getting bigger and bigger, chasing away the shadows. I don’t really have a choice. The light was coming to me. Fine, but if I see an old guy with a sickle I am running.
Ahh, very bright. I squinted and blinked, and the blurry shapes that were forming solidified into an old woman peering at me over the top of her glasses. She wore a red cross on the front of her white apron, and her blue dress was pale and starched. I looked around. I was in a long white hospital ward, surrounded by sleeping patients who were all covered with the same pastel blankets I had.
Mungo’s. The word popped into my head.
The Healer glanced down at her clipboard and beckoned a younger woman over. “We’ve got a live one!” the older nurse called, her voice croaky.
That sounds promising.
The younger woman had a massive grin on her face, and produced her own clipboard. She wore dark blue scrubs, as opposed to the World War One-style the other Healer seemed to be sporting. Really, older witches need to get with the times.
“Hello,” she said softly. The rustle of my blankets was the loudest thing in the deathly silent ward. “I’m Bessie.”
“Hey,” I said, my own voice hoarse from lack of use. She passed me a paper cup of water and helped me to sit up. “Now,” she said, “I expect that you will be a bit disoriented, but you need to answer a few questions for me please.”
“Sure,” I said, taking a sip of water.
She ran a quill down her clipboard. “Who is the Minister for Magic?”
“Oh Merlin, I’ve got no idea,” I said. Politics? What self-respecting teenager keeps up with politics?
“I’m not supposed to help you,” Bessie whispered conspiratorially, “but it’s Draco Malfoy.”
“That’s the bloke,” I said, trying not to sound like a total idiot. I’ve never heard of the guy before in my life.
Bessie treated me with a smile. “How many fingers am I holding up?” she asked, holding up two fingers.
“Well done, and... now?”
“Four and a thumb.”
She smiled again. “You’re a sharp one.”
Yeah, like a butter knife.
“Do you know where you are?” she asked.
“Correct. Do you know why you’re here?”
I thought, scrunching up my nose. “No, I can’t-”
“That’s okay,” she interrupted, sympathetically patting my hand. “Many people forget the actual accident, it’s very common. Could you identify your wand?”
She showed me three different wands, and I picked mine out without hesitation. “Aspen and unicorn hair, nine inches,” I told Bessie, a hint of pride colouring my voice.
She rolled her eyes. “Mine’s wood, that’s all I know. Oh Merlin, I’ve done all these questions in the wrong order,” she sighed. “What’s your name?”
I opened my mouth, expecting the answer to spring to my lips, but it didn’t. I swallowed. I opened my mouth again- but nothing.
“I... I don’t know that either.”
Bessie’s smile had gone. “I’ll be right back,” she said, but she looked worried.
She conversed with the old Healer, and was on the point of returning when the door to the ward opened and a horde of gingers poured in, screaming out “MOLLY!”
Poor Molly. Whoever she is, she has a massive family, and they all look insane.
I saw the old Healer take aside two of the adults, a balding ginger man with hornbeam glasses and a woman with long blonde hair. The woman’s hands went to her mouth, and she glanced at me, her eyes wide with shock. The man took off his glasses to polish them, his hands shaking.
What had I done?
The ginger clan were swarming towards me, but a few of the other adults had heard what the Healer had said, and started to usher them back out. Their protests filled the ward and one girl locked eyes with me. “Molly?” she mouthed, but I looked at her blankly.
And then there were just the sleeping patients, the Healer and the two adults. The woman walked over to me, and I sat up straighter, smoothing back my hair.
“Do you...” she began, but her voice cracked. “Do you know who I am?” she asked quietly.
I shook my head slowly. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t.”
She let out a horrible, heart-wrenching cry and the man clasped her to his chest, his eyes questioning over the top of her head.
But I had to shake my head again. “I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I’m so, so sorry.”
A tear leaked from the corner of his eye. “It’s not your fault.”
From outside the ward, I heard a girl’s voice, loud and insistent. “She doesn’t know me! Molly doesn’t know her own sister!”
My name is Molly Weasley (the second).
My mother is Audrey and my dad is Percy. I have a little sister called Lucy.
I am in my last year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry- it’s now the summer holidays.
I’m in Ravenclaw. I’m going to be Head Girl when I go back, and also captain of the Quidditch team; I play Seeker.
It was my first night at home, and the whole family was coming over for dinner. I could put names to most faces now, as while I was in St. Mungo’s they visited me so I could get to re-know everyone.
I would probably be able to fake recognition if I didn’t have the biggest family in existence.
I was in the tiny sitting room while everyone bustled around in the kitchen, cooking and chatting loudly. I wasn’t hiding.
Okay, I was. But you aren’t in a house with twenty-plus strangers.
I looked over what I had written. My Healer had said that when it got too much, to focus on what I knew, and to build up from that. With a sigh, I put my quill to the paper again and wrote; I was involved in an accident with a bus a month ago, and I don’t remember anything before I woke up two weeks ago.
That was a lie. I could remember something- a boy’s face, smiling as I pulled him, running, his palm warm in mine. It was night time, and I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of my own laughter.
But nothing I had been told about my accident tallied with that memory. Maybe it was fake, something that I had made up because I didn’t remember? But I can see the guy’s face so clearly.
I jumped as a tall black-haired teenager walked in without knocking, chuckling quietly. “Oh Merlin, sorry Molly, I didn’t realise you were in here- Uncle George wants me to get the Exploding Snap cards so he can beat me, but he’s got no chance! I own at Exploding Snap!”
I think it was James, one of my many cousins, but he was talking to me like I was the old Molly, the one who knew that he owned at Exploding Snap. He looked at me properly, and I covered what I had been writing, embarrassed.
“Have you been drawing?” he asked, smiling.
I looked at him nonplussed. “Drawing?”
“You- I mean, Molly was brilliant at drawing.”
Now he was talking to me like I was an imposter in his family. I don’t know which one hurt more.
“We were really close,” he said suddenly, as he bent to get the cards out of a drawer in the coffee table. “You and me. We weren’t in the same House, but we’re in the same year.”
I didn’t know what I should say.
“They think you tried to kill yourself,” James said. He shuffled the cards uneasily.
“Kill myself?” I spluttered.
“Why else were you in the middle of the road in the middle of the night?” he asked.
“In the middle of the night?”
I was beginning to sound like a parrot.
“You didn’t know?” he said, looking at me questioningly.
I shook my head. “No... no, I didn’t.”
He looked worried. “Should I have told you?”
“I’m glad you did.”
“I don’t know why nobody told you,” he said, running a hand through his hair. The action was strangely familiar. “Maybe it just slipped Auntie Audrey’s mind?”
“Probably. Don’t worry about it,” I said, forcing a smile.
James went to leave. “Dinner will be about twenty minutes,” he said, pausing at the door. “And maybe, if you remember something, you could draw it?”
I waited until he had closed the door before I flicked on the main light and picked up the quill again, dipping it back into the inkwell.
The point glistened with the wet ink as I poised it over the paper.
And his face swam before my eyes.
A/N: This is my entry into baletgir's Postsecret Challenge. Credit to the Postsecret website, and I hope you liked it! Beta'd by TenthWeasleyWriter
As ever, thanks for reading. And please review!
Other Similar Stories
I'll follow ...
by Elle Winters
The Art Of B...
In My Life