He didn't show at her funeral.

At this point, I wasn't sure if I wanted Glenn to be there at all. Maybe it would have awakened some part of me, something that resembled empathy as it would have showed that he cared or at least let me gain some closure hearing what he had to say. I wasn't sure if it would have made any difference or not at this point, although if it had spurred enough anger in me to attack him, perhaps the mental ordeal would have been over a lot quicker.

Either way, I gained no closure and ended up feeling even more empty than before.

I don't know who came up with funerals, the idea of standing around a casket with your dead loved on inside was not comforting in the slightest. I could barely look at the ebony black coffin, knowing she was in there, her limbs and fingers contorted into an unnatural positions as if she were some sort of broken puppet. The Funeral directors didn't know her, they'd place her just like every other body, not knowing how special she was to us. I told myself that if I'd been in charge I would have put her in her favourite jumpsuit and done her hair so it was in her favourite style: messy chic as she called it. Realistically, I would have been too broken to do anything other than cry over her. At least it wasn't open casket.

Compared to James's parents funeral, very few people turned up but I wasn't sad about that because the people who came were the people who mattered most to her. I hoped that the others would find some sort of comfort in each other's stories, able to laugh about the memories rather than cry over the present. The stories did nothing to me other than make me realise that she was gone. Forever.

Dorcas Meadowes was never coming back.

"Do you want to go home?" James asked, sitting down next to me, after an hour of the memorial had passed. I'd tried to put on a somewhat brave face but he saw right through it.

"I don't want to go home."

"Do you want to stay, then?"

After a long pause, I shook my head, "I don't know. I don't know what I want."

It was amazing how fast the lies had started again. I'd told him I didn't know what I wanted when that wasn't true, I did know what I wanted: I wanted revenge. But that wasn't exactly something you could just drop on someone at a funeral, an event which was already the worst.

"Actually, I do," I replied quickly, "I don't want to go home but I do want to leave. I think... I think I want to visit my Mother."

She'd been transferred to a Muggle hospital in the centre of London now so it was easy to visit. Despite what the Nurses had said, that she would be 'fine' it quickly became clear everything wasn't fun. You could erase and replace memories all you wanted but you couldn't erase physical damage or in this case, brain damage. I was beginning to think they had given her the damage, the effects of magic on the brain were still uncertain and perhaps their attempts to erase had done more harm than good. She was sick, her memories wonky and skewed now so that when she spoke it to me, it was as if she didn't fully know who I was. Still, visiting her was good, reminding me that she'd been rescued and at least two people I loved hadn't died that day.

"Are you sure?" James asked, giving my hand a small squeeze, "It was upsetting the other day, you said so yourself."

"Doesn't mean I don't want to go," I replied, with a shrug, "It would be awful if I didn't just because it upset me. Besides, even Petunia goes regularly and it's an hour long drive."

"Have you seen her more because of it?" James asked, "In which case, poor you."

I shook my head, "No, I haven't. I got one letter, telling me 'her times' to visit."

"Does she know why your Mum is in hospital?"

"She does," I replied softly, "She blames me for it, I can tell. Well, I know, on one of occasions my Mum seemed to know who I was, she let slip. If she hated me before, I'm now number one on her list of hated people."

"Where am I?" James asked, trying to cheer me up slightly, "I reckon I'm a close second."

"No, I still think she hates that mail man who took two days to deliver her letter more than you," I replied with a small, soft laugh, "A comfortable third."

We glanced around, pleased to see that everyone was distracted giving us the perfect chance to slip out. Without exchanging a word, we stood up, our fingers intertwining together which was basically a natural reflex at this point.

We'd almost made it out the door when we heard a voice behind us.

"Lily, James," Slowly, we turned around to see the plump faced Mrs Meadowes standing behind us, her hands clasped neatly. Her hair was flat and dark, matching her brown eyes yet she was unmistakably Dorcas's mother. It was just small details, the way the corners of her eye creased up when she smiled or the slightly asymmetrical yet joyous smile but I could see Dorcas in her.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Yes, we would have loved to stay for longer," James covered quickly, "But we have... a family thing with Lily's sister."

"Oh, are you two getting on better now?" Dorcas's Mum laughed softly, "I have a vague memory of Dorcas calling her a 'self righteous bitch' once."

I'd heard Dorcas called her a lot worse but felt it wasn't appropriate to taint her mother's memory of her, instead replying, "Sounds rather accurate."

"Well, it's good that you're seeing her, I'm sure... I'm sure Dorcas would be pleased," Mrs Meadowes managed, giving us a small smile. I could tell though, just from the look in her eye she knew this was a complete lie. Dorcas would have scoffed and mentioned something about Petunia's head being so far up her arse it poked out the other side. I knew it, Mrs Meadowes but already Dorcas was undergoing the inevitable transition from the dirty minded, flawed girl we all loved to an idealised version where she was kind all the damn time and supportive even when she hated the person with hellish rage

The funny thing was I could tell it was happening, and she could tell it was too yet we went along with it, "She would have been, wouldn't she. She would have loved this all, all the stories being told about her."

Another lie: Dorcas would have told us off for talking about her behind our backs or for making she stories too clean and proceed to tell them 'better' herself.

"Oh, she would have been so pleased," Mrs Meadowes replied, "Well, thank you for coming, Dorcas would appreciate it."

I hated hearing people speak for Dorcas but I couldn't say anything, the pair of us giving her a meek, fake happy goodbye before leaving. The hospital was bleak and white, no matter how many times I went to it, I could never get over feeling unnerved by the sterility of it all. I was surprised how easy it was to get in, literally anyone could go and visit her which at first had worried me but now I had come to realise that perhaps memory loss was a slower punishment for me, something Voldemort would love.

Strangely, Voldemort had slipped to the bottom of my priorities list when really he should have been first. He hated me already for biting and then escaping him but now it had happened twice. It almost felt vain, saying I would be top of his priorities because I knew that wasn't true. I was more like an annoying mosquito, not top of his list but if given the chance, he might assign some lowly deatheaters to come and take me away.

Still, right now my main priority had to be my mother. For all the Wizarding World's snobbery, the hospital ward that my Mother was in looked no different from the one they'd put James in after the attack, in fact the blue curtains here were a lot nicer than the strange, floaty brown cloth at St Mungos. Seeing her in either ward though broke my heart a little, knowing that if it weren't for me, she'd be at home with her garden club.

Perhaps Petunia was right, perhaps I was to blame.

"Do you want to go in first?" James asked, his fingers subconsciously jumping to the scar on his face. He would never admit it but hospitals scared him too, if just because of the memories.

"Sure," I replied, taking his hand in mine as we stepped into the ward. My mother was right at the end which luckily allowed us to have some privacy from the others, thanks to the opaque curtains. There were several seats lying around and I quickly pulled one up, James perhaps purposefully taking a little longer.

"Mum, hi, it's me," I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek before sitting down again, "Lily."

"... Lily," Her face broke into a smile, "Oh... you grew your hair."

This was a clear reference to my bob back when I was ten, the age she thought I was seemed to change everyday.

"I've had it long for a while," I replied softly, taking her hand in mine, "How are you feeling today?"

"Good, I suppose," She replied, letting go of my hand to push herself up, "I keep having these odd dreams..."

Me and James exchanged a nervous look, both of us knew what came next.

"The same dream every night, in fact. There a green and red lights and suddenly I'm flying, suspended above the air," She gave a small smile, "It's strangely pretty but I always feel a vague sense of uncertainty. Does that make even an ounce of sense?"

"It does," I replied, squeezing her hand, "It really does, Mum, you don't even know..."

She suddenly winced and I instantly leant forward, "Mum?"

"Heather, are you alright?" James asked and she nodded slowly.

"I'm alright, I just get these headaches," She murmured before looking up, her brow furrowing in confusion, "You look so ... old, Lily."

"Thanks?" I replied with a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's not a bad thing," She continued, "But you used to be so small, you were..."

"Heather, fancy a crossword?" James cut in, clearly sensing my uncomfortableness. At this, my Mum somewhat perked up.

"Oh, I'm out of practice," She said with a laugh.

"Nonsense, it's like riding a broom," James said, with a scarily cheerful laugh.

"Riding a broom..." Realisation dawned on her face, "Oh yes, I ... I forgot."

I let the two of them get on with it, I hated crosswords and it was nice to see her looking so happy rather than concerned and confused. Technically, Glenn wasn't responsible for what had happened to my Mother, I should be looking to the main cause: Lord Voldemort. Yet in my mind, if I thought hard enough, it was his fault really.

At this point, I could think of anything, literally anything and still arrive at the certain conclusion that he was responsible for my problems. I'd never really understood the intense desire for revenge but within a few days it had become ingrained in me as if it had always been there.

Sorry this was a bit late to come out, I had to think up the plot but I did it and the next twenty something chapters are all planned out! Also Jackon Breit's 'No Diggity' cover kept coming on which was VERY hard to write to. Anyway, Happy Valentines day everyone and also thank you all so much for 55k views, this is honestly crazy and an amazing Valentines gift so thank you! - E x