𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨-𝙧.𝙖.𝙗

40-healing

JO SPENDS ABOUT NINETY PERCENT OF HER TIME HEALING SOMEONE.

Most of the time, it's her parents. They require the most amount of attention. And Jo just has to do it, she has to tend to their bedside and feed them and clean them and talk to them and make sure that whatever pain they feel is minimal, whatever thoughts they're thinking aren't too dreadful. Jo stays up late into the night brewing elaborate and intense potions and wakes up early in the morning to pour them down her parent's throat. She has to cook for them as well, breakfast, lunch and dinner. Meals that aren't too time consuming but also aren't complete shite, food that's soft enough for them to swallow without difficulty, food that doesn't hit their stomach like bricks.

Jo has to think about her parents all the time, think about how they're doing and how she can make it easier. It takes up so much of her time that Jo almost forgets that they're dying, that she won't have to do it forever. And every morning when Jo wakes up with sleep in her eyes, she hopes it's not the last day she gets to take care of them. She hopes she'll have another day of potions and cooking and cleaning and giving. She hopes it never ends.

But Jo can see it, the way they deteriorate. She can see each day exactly how much life has drained from their eyes. Each day, they can talk less. Their thoughts become scrambled, unintelligible. They start murmuring, start losing themselves. Jo sees it happen, watches helplessly. And eventually, Jo starts to come to terms with it, accepting it. Sometimes she cries at night, careful to keep her tears away from the brewing potions under her. Other than that, though, she really tries not to think about it.

Sometimes James insists on taking care of their parents, ushering Jo out of the house and promising her that he knows what to do, that he has it under control and to please, please go and get some rest.

That's when Jo runs off to take care of Lily.

Jo's tolerance of Lily had slowly been evolving and transforming to a genuine appreciation and fondness. There are things about Lily that Jo used to find unbearably irritating that she now thinks are sort of endearing. Like when Lily gets irritated at James, she scrunches up her nose and purses her lips together tightly like she's trying to physically suppress her annoyance. Or when she laughs so loudly, she snorts. Or when she so sincerely tells a joke that's really not too funny, but Jo can't help but laugh anyway. And Jo's always known that it was easy for people to like Lily. Now she just understands it a little more.

Jo always arrives and Lily and James's new home in Godric's Hollow with potions and creams in hand, eagerly and with a soft smile. It's nice to spend time with Lily. It's easy.

Her belly has expanded, now stretched and robust. Jo can see it pop out from under her shirt as Lily reaches for some tea in her cabinet. A few weeks ago, Jo would've offered to help. She's learned since then that her assistance is thoroughly unwanted. So she sits at the kitchen table, watching. "Green or ginger?" Lily questions, still on the tips of her toes.

"Whichever's closer to the ground," Jo responds back, pulling each of the prenatal positions she's prepared for her sister-in-law and placing them on the table in front of her, not missing the glare Lily shoots her over her shoulder. "Anything new this week?"

Lily sighs, tea in hand as she drops to stand flat on her feet. "Well, I'm always tired. I constantly have to piss. My legs are cramping, and the other day I almost hexed James for breathing too loud."

"Hmm," Jo hums, "he probably deserved it. Which is good, because that's the only thing I don't have a potion for." She points at two potions before her, one in a long, skinny clear vile, the other in a thick, amber glass. "Take these two at night, and this one," she instructs, now gesturing to a large bottle of a shimmering, light blue liquid, "take in the morning. I also made this cream. Should help with skin sensitivity and the stretching."