Wallflower

Looking up I heard the padding of feet on the floor. It wasn’t rushed, just a single set of lazy feet trudging down the steps. Paying no mind to whomever was coming down we made our way into the kitchen. “I assume you’re hungry, right Dear?” Molly said as she tied an apron around her waist and peeked back for my answer. Truthfully I wasn’t feeling very peckish at all but I didn’t want to offend her kind offer so I supplied a small smile and a quick nod. Molly grinned, turning around and began bustling about the pantries and the refrigerator. One could tell quite easily that this was where she felt most comfortable, and what she really loved to do.

As Molly did her thing I started twirling a lock of red hair between my fingers of my good hand. A dull ache gnawed at my conscience that this wasn’t right. A bit of pureblood pride bit me, making me despise the hair. I was after all, rightfully a Black. It was in my blood to have dark hair, not a single Black has ever had another color. A grimace stained my face momentarily and I dropped the lock of hair as though it were poisonous. Forcing myself to relax my face, I faked a pleasant smile. Looking up I saw that a large pot of soup had been placed on the stove top and was starting to steam gentle, and a heaping pile of sandwiches lay on a plate not far away.

The doors to the kitchen burst open and in came Ron. He took a seat across from me, and offered a sad smile. “How are you feeling?” He inquired.

“I’m feeling fine thanks, just a touch of pain when I shift my right arm too far but I suppose that’s to be expected.” I lied. Truth was it hurt a bit more than that, but I wasn’t about to burden anyone with sympathy for me.

He supplied a small smile again, but our conversation was cut off by Molly. “Ron, set the table, could you?”

“Sure Mum.” He replied before getting up and grabbing an arm load of bowls, a handful of spoons and a small stack of side plates for the sandwiches. As he shakily walked around the table setting each of the places the look of concentration on his face was evident. The bowls wobbled precariously, and the plates shivered against one another. Clumsily the lanky boy completed the task though, and sat down again across from me wiping a few drops of sweat from his brow.

“Sorry I couldn’t help.” I said with a reassuring smile.

“No, that’s alright. You shouldn’t have to do all the work.” He said lightly. He smiled and looked awkwardly into my deep grey eyes. I knew that without Harry and Hermione here he was probably just about to go stir-crazy. He didn’t seem much of a leader unless forced into the roll so I assumed that thus far he’d been wandering around aimlessly trying to follow shadows and dust in the places of his friends.

Molly came over to the table and started ladling the soup from the large pot into the bowls. “Thank you Ron.”

As she did so the twins barged through the door and took a seat on either side of me, Fred on my left and George on my right. “Hello Carmine,” George said.

“Nice to see you around again.” Fred continued.

“Hello to you as well boys.” I said, keeping my face down and looking intently into my bowl of soup.

Ginny and Uncle Sirius walked into the kitchen, taking their seats and then Molly took the last plated seat. It was a weekday so Arthur wouldn’t join us as he was at the Ministry. Silently everyone took a seat and began to eat their lunch. Through the meal, no one said a word and I never looked up from my bowl and plate. Embarrassment crept through my being as I thought of how clumsy I must have looked. My dominant arm was out of commission, and I was in no sense of the word “ambidextrous”. Heat flooded my face as I’m sure my cheeks were stained a vibrant pink. Thankfully though, no one commented on my pitiful performance.

Once I’d had enough of struggling to do something as mundane as eating I dropped the spoon into the bowl and piled it all on the mostly empty plate. I’d barely made it halfway through my food, but everyone else was finished or almost so. I mumbled an apology and left the table dropping my dishes on the counter. Determination flooded through me and I had the urge to do something for myself; I just simply couldn’t be helpless.

Noisily I clambered up the stairs, my ankle throbbing from the excess pressure. Not halfway up the first flight I found myself having to lean on the wall to my left and pulling myself up with my good arm. My steps rang out loudly, but no one had come to help me, or stop me. For this I was thankful, I had to know how helpless I was. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I thought of how I could possibly live if I had to depend on others for everything. Then came the anger, and my footsteps became louder on the stairs, stomping with great force.

Eventually I made it to my room, I was tired but the adrenaline still pushed me. I flung open the doors to my potions cabinet one at a time. They both slammed violently against the wall. With great force I yanked my cauldron from its shelf and dropped it in the middle of the room. Tears flowed freely down my face now, as I grabbed as many ingredients as I could. I didn’t know what I was grabbing, nor did I care. They too were thrown on the floor as I grabbed my knife, mortar and pestle and fell to the ground which was now filthy.

I shoved a dry grassy substance into the mortar and tried to grind it with the pestle but it kept falling over; I tried to slice and squish some bean-like ingredients but only succeeded in cutting my left hand. In a short fit of rage I threw the knife down and knocked the mortar and pestle far away. My body huddled into a fetal position as best it could in the middle of the room, my mess before me. All that was heard were my choked out sobs and heaves of air. My vision was blurred beyond recognition, and I lost touch of everything around me. I was just too independent to rely on others… especially not this much. It would be a direct blow to my pride, and my self-conscious. A blow that I knew would take time to recover from.

It was in this instance of my breakdown that I knew my physical wounds would without a doubt heal. But the mental scars would take much longer to deal with.