xlii. a funerary birthday

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forty two

a funerary birthday

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Wind howled painfully in Ottilie's ears, and the world was a dizzying pattern of indistinct colors. Finally, everything slowed down until she found herself struggling for balance in a dimly lit, dusty living room.

The room was decorated in a distinct sixties style. There was a horrendous dark orange shag rug, floral furniture, and asbestos-filled swirly Artex ceilings.

The memories of this house filled her with dread.

The earliest was when she was newly interested in prehistory and was reading a book on humans and mammoths coexisting in the Pleistocene Epoch. The book was meant for a general audience, but not really for children, let alone four-year-olds.

Ottilie remembered sitting at the kitchen table, listening to her grandmother tell Kanna that Ottilie's behavior was not normal. According to some article Eleanor had read, letting Ottilie get too advanced compared to her age group would make it nearly impossible for her to successfully socialize with children once she began school.

While she wasn't wrong about that, Ottilie didn't think it was very appropriate for Eleanor to call her weird right in front of her.

Kanna had been quick to assure her that Eleanor was just close-minded and intimidated by her intelligence, but when she was later called weird and creepy by her classmates, it only confirmed to her that there was truth in what Eleanor had said.

And certainly nothing she had learned about her relationship with the Dark Arts disconfirmed it.

"Hello?" Ottilie asked aloud. The house felt unsettlingly empty.

When no one answered, Ottilie entered the kitchen, which had scuffed, orangey-beige linoleum floors. They were unspeakably ugly. Ottilie had no idea what gave Eleanor the right to criticize Kanna's taste in interior design when her house looked like this.

On the kitchen table, she saw a piece of paper taped to a water glass that had her name written in pen at the top. She went to pick it up. It was directions to the hospital, including Eleanor's floor and room number.

It took Ottilie about five minutes to battle off an intense compulsion to stay at the house to wait for her family to come back. They knew next to nothing about how wizards traveled; she could make up anything.

But, since her mother had consulted the Macmillans, there was a chance they told her that she'd be able to travel by Apparition if not by Portkey. Her father would kill her if she didn't show up on purpose.

So, she brought her stuff into the room where Adelaide's things were. Before venturing outside, she changed into Muggle clothes and put on her puffer jacket. She locked the door behind her with a spare key and started on her way.

The walk only took her about ten minutes, though it felt longer. It was unusually cold that day, and she was bitterly dreading what would surely be a slice of hell.

At least, this time, Satan was in a coma.

Once she entered the hospital, it took another ten minutes to find Eleanor's room because she accidentally missed the right one and had to walk all the way back down the hall (that is, after a bit of contemplating life at one of the windows first).

She stood outside the door, nauseated with dread. It was slightly ajar.

After a final, steadying breath, she lifted her hand and gently knocked. A moment later, it opened to reveal Simon. He looked horrific, with a sickly grey face, dark purple half-circles below his eyes, and reddened scleras. His hair was lank like he hadn't washed it in a while.

          

He stepped forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. Ottilie held him back lightly. His jacket smelled like hospital, but he was warm. She couldn't remember the last time he had ever hugged her.

He ushered Ottilie into the room, where she was met with a new wave of disquiet.

Ottilie hated hospitals. She hated them ever since her sister's diagnosis, after the many times since then she'd been in the emergency department after Adelaide had been admitted for all sorts of things like kidney problems, serious urinary tract infections, or when the calcium levels in her blood had gotten too high and she'd been throwing up all day.

Ottilie hated how artificial they looked and how the antiseptic in the air never quite overpowered the scent of sick and dying people underneath. She hated all the tubes and lights and noises. She hated the way doctors treated their patients like symptoms on a page rather than human beings. Ottilie swore half of Adelaide's doctors wouldn't even look at her.

Eleanor's hospital room was dim. The lights were off, and the curtains were partially closed. She lay still, half-propped up, looking like a corpse already. Her skin was paper white, her head lolled unnaturally to the side, and face saggier than Ottilie remembered, like gravity had been stronger around her lately.

The only hint that she was still alive was the subtle movement of her chest, though her breaths were unnaturally far apart and sounded rough. Equipment loomed around her silently, though she was connected to none of it.

This was the hospital room of a dying person.

"You told me she wasn't going to be here, Simon," hissed a ragged voice to Ottilie's left. Her grandfather looked about as awful as his son. Henry was sitting right next to the bed, fingers threaded in his wife's limp hand, glaring at Ottilie with hatred plain on his face.

"Eleanor wouldn't want her here."

"Dad! How could you say that?" cried Willa, who'd been slumped over with her head on Kanna's shoulder. Adelaide was fast asleep with her headphones on, curled up on Kanna's lap, even though she was getting too big to fit comfortably.

Aunt Willa's curly blonde hair was a version of Simon's, though longer. Her normally bright blue eyes looked dull, and the usual air of aloof, effortless beauty that hung around her was missing.

Henry ignored Willa. "Get her out of here."

"Dad, please," Simon said in a weak voice.

"She said she never wanted to see her again," said Henry.

Simon swallowed hard. "She said that in a moment of distress and disorientation."

"What are you talking about?" asked Willa. "She's her family!"

Henry suddenly rose to his full height. "She's not my family. She's a witch!" he shouted, leaving the room in ringing silence. Kanna gasped and adjusted her knee so she could press Adelaide's earphones over her ears, although it wasn't working, and Adelaide began looking around in confusion.

"You don't know what you're saying; you're sleep-deprived!" said Willa.

"It's your fault!" Henry bellowed at Ottilie. "You killed my wife! You are demonic! Evil!"

Ottilie was paralyzed. However awful she was expecting this visit to be, it was turning out much worse than that. She stared at her grandmother, the only person in the room who looked even slightly relaxed.

Suddenly, there was a forceful knock on the door, and a nurse came in looking horrified.

"What's happening? Do we need to call someone?" she asked.

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