Atropos → george weasley

xlii. a funerary birthday

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

forty two

a funerary birthday

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

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.