On the Turning Away

It was late in the evening when Gwen learned of her mother’s untimely death. The young woman had just gotten in from a long day at work. She was looking forward to soaking in the bath for an hour before meeting up with her dear friend, Adelaide, at their favorite bar. The pair planned on drinking until they couldn’t see straight and then crawling home to one of their houses to watch the teli. That was what their plans consisted of for the evening and in all honesty, Gwen was looking forward to it, but when the knock came at the door, it all changed.

Gwen had just gotten into the tub when she heard the knock. It was loud, sounding incredibly urgent but as she sat there she couldn’t help but think that maybe it wasn’t anything truly serious, that she could just ignore it. That’s what she did. She ignored the knocking for a little over four minutes, but then the knocking grew more frantic. She grew annoyed. And seeing as to how they weren’t leaving, she slipped out the tub, covered her body in her lush robe and walked to the entrance.

“What the bloody hell is your –” she trailed off when she saw her father standing there, his stormy grey eyes brimming with tears that refused to be shed. “D-dad?” she whispered in disbelief. “What’s going on? Are you alright? Is . . . is mum okay?”

“I . . .” he began to speak, but his emotions overpowered him, rendering him mute.

Gwen ushered him into the house, holding onto his arm so as to lead him to a couch where he could find support. She sat beside him, a worried look in her eyes and a petrifying fear in her heart.

“Dad, what happened?”

“It’s your mum.” He told her. “T-they found her.”

“She was missing?” Gwen nearly shouted. “When did she go missing? Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve gone home to look for her. Is she alright? She’s at St. Mungo’s. Isn’t she?”

Henry reached out for her hand, taking it in his much larger one. “She wasn’t missing . . . she’d left for work this morning, like she always does and when she didn’t come home, I was worried so I sent an owl to the Ministry, asking if she was still there.” his hold on her hand tightened. “Said she didn’t show up to work, I started worrying. Your mum always goes to work, even when she’s sick she goes so I-I tried finding her, but everyone said that she was alright, that I shouldn’t worry. But then Remus for the Order showed up at the house.”

“No.” the tears started to sting at her grey eyes.

“They found her in an old house, in a room locked from the inside and . . .”

“And what?” she pressed.

“The Dark Mark was hovering above, only it wasn’t just the one the Death Eaters use, it was the one designated for him.” he spat. “Your mum knew her life was in danger. The Order had caught wind that she was a popular topic with the Death Eaters, but no one thought . . . they never thought that it would happen like this.” Henry lowered his head, shielding his face from view to ensure that the solitary tear that spilled from his right eye would go unnoticed. “Had they known, she would have gone into hiding. We would have gone underground to ensure her survival, but no one knew . . . no one knew.”

She wanted to cry, truly she did, but the desire to weep was suppressed. Gwen refused to burst into hysterics in front of her father. He was emotionally distraught as it was and to add to his pain would be unforgivable, so she toughened up, like any true Gryffindor would and braced herself for what was to come.

“Where is she?” Gwen asked as calmly as she could.

“At The Burrow.” His voice was small, fear was present in it.

“The Burrow.” There was no reason for her mothers remain to be there of all places. “Why isn’t she at Uncle Luke’s?”

“Because that’s where the Order took her,” Harry responded sharply. “And I haven’t had the heart to move her.”

She remained silent.

“I wasn’t going to come fetch you, planned on sending another so I could stay with my darling, but no one knew where you lived; I was forced to come.” Henry suddenly realized how harsh his words had sounded. “It’s not that I didn’t want to see you. I simply . . . I wanted to look upon her face while I still can.”

“Well,” Gwen silenced the voices in her head that urged her to remain as far from The Burrow as possible. “I suppose we should get going. Let me throw on some clothes.”

“Hurry.” He told her.

And then, without bothering to send word to Adelaide that their plans had been canceled, Gwen changed into a clean change of clothes and left her apartment at her father’s side. She hoped that the trip to The Burrow would be as uneventful as possible and that her mother’s body would be moved to that of her Uncle Luke’s until she did a general search of her family home in Surrey, to check if any hexes or traps had been set.

The Death Eaters were ruthless.

They had killed entire families during the last war and if Amelia had been murdered at the hands of Voldemort then it was highly possible that Henry and Gwen could be next. Their deaths could serve as a warning to other officials. It could scare them into not implementing policy that would negatively affect the Death Eaters, just so they could save the lives of their loved ones.

When Gwen and Henry arrived at The Burrow, the living room was sparsely populated. The only two people inhabiting it were Molly and Arthur. Remus had returned to his own home in order to give the family some privacy and Molly had ordered her children to remain upstairs so as to not disturb them in their mourning.

Molly answered the door with a sympathetic smile, her eyes voiced her deepest sympathies, but her mouth spoke no words. She didn’t want to risk saying something that would upset either of them, especially not Gwen whom Molly had not been in contact with for a little over nine years.

To Molly’s smile, Gwen responded with a polite bow of the head and then she followed her father into the living room, weaving across the familiar downstairs area as they sought out the small den near the back of the house in which Amelia’s body was being kept.

Upon reaching the door that shielded his wife’s body from view, Henry stopped and placed a hand against it. He took in deep breaths, preparing to see the lifeless corpse that his once vivacious wife had become. His heart began to pound violently, nearly crippling him from its intensity but he made it through and eventually opened the door.

Henry then turned to say a few things to his daughter.

In all honesty, Gwen didn’t hear a thing.

All she could focus on was the worn cot in the middle of the room, the cot on which her mother’s body rested. Her feet slowly carried her to her mother’s side; they moved at such a sluggish speed that it was as if each foot was asking the other for permission to keep moving. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that she wanted to run out the door and pretend that nothing had ever happened.

That it was nothing more than a nightmare that would soon end.

But it was no nightmare, it was real life and as much as she wanted to leave, she knew she had to face it head on. That was how her parents raised her. That was the type of woman her mother had always wanted her to be. She didn’t want a daughter that would cower from the harshness of the world. She wanted someone that would hold her head high and conquer.

Gwen stood motionless beside the cot, her eyes half closed as they examined the lifeless body before her. She had half a mind to exclaim that that was not her mother. There way no way that the pallid creature before her was the same woman she’d seen only a week before, absolutely no way and the lips, oh, her mother’s lips were full and a shade of coral so bright that they appeared perpetually enhanced with lipstick. That was how her mother’s lips looked, they weren’t an ice cold shade of light pink that verged on purple; those weren’t her lips.

The only reason she accepted that the woman was indeed her mother, was all due to the white gold necklace that graced her neck. It was a small necklace, nothing extravagant, her mother had never been keen on luxurious items and the only piece of jewelry that she ever wore was that necklace and that was because Gwen gave her that necklace on her fortieth birthday. Gwen bought the necklace with money she earned from working at the Ministry for two entire summers and it was the most valuable possession Amelia had.

“Can you give us a minute?” Gwen asked, not bothering to face her father.

Henry hesitated at first, but eventually agreed.

Gwen waited until she heard the door close before whipping out her wand and placing a charm so that no one would hear her.

“This is my fault.” Gwen choked out, the guilt enraging her. “You asked me to be your second because you knew something was up, but I was a daft cow that turned her own back on her mother. Oh god. I'm so sorry, mum. If I . . . if I’d just gone home with you, none of this would’ve happened. But no, I was such a bloody cunt that I let my damn pride get in the way and for what?” she sobbed, as if her mother would respond.

And she sat there, awaiting an answer that would never arrive and as she sat there, overcome with grief, it dawned on her that her mother would never reply. Amelia spoke her last words to Gwen a week ago, and they had been a simple thank you, followed by my darling.

“I promised to visit.” Gwen muttered tiredly. “I was going to, truly was, actually thinking about dropping by this weekend but that wasn’t meant to be and I guess it’s a punishment for turning away from this!” she grew quiet, losing herself in thought. “But I promise I’ll make things better.”

Gwen abandoned her place on the chair for a spot on the floor. She knelt down beside the cot, her hand holding onto that of her mother’s the entire time. She rested her forehead on the limp hand, letting her tears fall onto the wrinkled skin as she made sense of just how things would be made better.

“On Monday, I’ll resign.” The words surprised Gwen, but they felt right. “I-I’ll tell them that I have family duties to tend to. It’s true. Someone has to look after dad. He’s hopeless when it comes to defending himself. He won’t last without someone looking after him. And I swear to you, I swear to you on my life that I’ll join the Order like you wanted me to.” She kissed her mother’s hand. “I just hope that you’ll forgive me one day, for this fucking mess.”

With shaking hands, she placed her mother’s arm back onto the cot, gently resting it against the worn fabric. Once it was secured, she stood from her place on the ground and in silence, stared at her mother, taking in every detail so as to have it safely tucked away in her mind. She always knew that her mother was going to die before her.

That was just the way of the world.

Parents are supposed to be buried by their children, but as Gwen stood there, she felt deep in her soul that her mother had been taken from her much too soon. She always thought that her mom would be there when she got married and that her mother would be in the hospital room as she gave birth. Gwen always imagined those moments with her mother in them and as she stood there, staring at her mother’s figure, the lump in her throat grew and her heart plummeted downwards.

The emotions overwhelmed her, leaving her gasping for air to alleviate the pressure from within, but it didn’t matter how many deep breaths were taken, her body was malfunctioning. It was threatening to shut down on her and there was only one thing she could do to make it better and that was to have a smoke.

Gwen suffered from a terrible addiction to cigarettes.

Not that she would ever admit to such a thing. In her mind, her love of cigarettes was perfectly normal, even healthy, she would argue. She depended heavily on the cancerous stick. Its toxic smoke was the only substance that could calm her nerves during the worst situations. And seeing as to how she was beginning to fall apart, she needed it most desperately.

“I’ll be back soon.” Gwen spoke to the corpse. “Just have to get a smoke in.”

The charm she had placed to keep her words from being heard, was lifted and with that taken care of, Gwen left the room. Her thoughts so consumed on tasting that precious poison that she was completely oblivious to the questioning glances being shot her way by the three adults that stood in the hallway.

Molly was the most attentive of the three. Her eyes were glued on the dark haired youth as she stormed down the corridor. Where she was going, Molly didn’t know, but what she did know was that Gwen had an affinity for cigarettes, that love had been developed at the same time that her eldest son, Bill, became dependent on the substance as well.

And with that in mind, Molly proceeded to storm up the stairs.

Meanwhile, Gwen maneuvered herself through the Burrow. It had been years since she’d last step foot in it, but she remembered the layout well. Nothing had changed in ten years and she easily found the back exit which would serve to lead her to the garden area. The garden was always her favorite part of a home, a belief that she shared with her father.

It was in gardens that she felt most at peace with the world and that was the reason for why she sought the garden out as opposed to their front porch or the shed which was located directly to the right of The Burrow. There was actually a door inside The Burrow that connected to the shed, an improvement made by Arthur whom found having to leave the house to get into the shed, a tad tedious.

Once Gwen was outside, she marched across the trimmed lawn area. There were chairs there, as well as table that could have easily been used as seating, but she was set on going further in, on having her smoke at the bench in front of the small pond. The pond itself was not one that nature had created. It was Bill and she that made addition to the garden area when the latter turned of age.

They had had a ball with it, creating what they believed to be the perfect space and as she sat at the bench, she swore she heard their laughter from when life was simpler and they were still on speaking terms. Those thoughts were forced aside. There was no use in thinking about the past when it came to the subject of him. He was vermin, scum, and she detested him most ardently.

The cool breeze reminded her of why she went outside. Having remembered why she was there, she reached into the hidden pocket she’d personally sewn into her jacket and pulled out the silver container that housed her hand rolled cigarettes. She placed one between her lips, holding it loosely as she fumbled for the lighter. As a witch, it would have been more prudent to light it her wand, but she preferred doing it the muggle way. It made the act of smoking into a spectacle.

Gwen covered the tip of her cigarette with her left hand and with her right, she pressed down on the corner of the lighter and set fire to the wrap, thus igniting her poison of choice. The sweet poison filled her lungs, spreading through every inch until there was no space free from smoke and after holding it in, after relishing in its feel, she exhaled.

The smoke traveled with the wind, blowing far away from her small bench in the garden. She repeated the action several more times, stopping only when she’d finished the cigarettes in her container and when she pulled out the last one, she eyed it as if it were the last drop of water in existence. That moment of intense admiration ended much sooner than it ought to have and she was back to inhaling deeply in a comfortable silence, but then that silence was broken by the fiery haired ginger she so strongly wished to avoid.

“I heard about your mum.” Bill told her. “Real sorry about it, she was always real good to me.”

Briefly, she opened her mouth to thank him for his kind words, but then her senses kicked in and she did the only thing she could do in such a situation. She stood up and left, not even looking him in the face as she walked by.